


Scratching The Surface

by Oh_Shiny



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Mental Health Issues, Romance, Sibling Incest, Slow Build, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:03:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 54,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1248589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oh_Shiny/pseuds/Oh_Shiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime returns to Kings Landing a slightly broken man and minus a hand. With Cersei's rejection still stinging at his heart he starts to take comfort in the easy company of his brothers wife, a woman that he has sworn to protect and return to her family if he ever has a chance of regaining his 'lost' honour.</p><p>Reworked Chapter 16. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to George R.R. Martin, this work is intended to be a trans-formative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this little story. I've intended for Sansa to be aged up, she is 16 at the start of this fiction. =)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED 20th June 2014

In the weeks following his marriage Tyrion Lannister had taken to drinking at night. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t drunk at night previously, but it just wasn't in the large quantities he now found himself consuming. He would sit in his solar, raising cup after cup to his lips while his pretty little wife would sit ladylike and straight backed beside him, embroidering pretty little flowers on pretty little silk kerchiefs. Eventually she would put her work aside, lean in towards him to diligently peck him on the cheek with eyes scrunched shut while gently speaking a parting as she stood, and made her way to the bedchamber. He never really knew how long it would be from the time his lady wife retired, to the time when he would stumble and grasp at the edges of furniture until he found his head hitting a pillow, swirling with drink and misery. And to his surprise, his wife had seemed to find all of this  _very_  agreeable.

In the weeks following her marriage Sansa Lannister had taken to rising with the sun every morning. She ignored the scowls that the handmaidens shot in her direction, at the injustice of them having to rise just as early as she so they could attend to her. They would work silently per Sansa’s warning, not wishing to wake her lord husband. Although, she knew that the man indulged in his cups to such an extent in the evenings that an invading army would most likely fail to stir him from his sleep.

Sansa, after so long being in the midst of Lannister company, had learnt to see the small opportunities that arose in the everyday life at court. For example, Tyrion liked to drink to the degree that he could forget that he was forced into a loveless marriage with a woman that found him physically, and genetically unpleasant. He would retire late then rise late, and Sansa had come to see this as a way of avoiding her dear husband for the most part of the day. So she herself had made it a habit to retire early and rise early, which also granted her the pleasant fortune of avoiding the  _entire_  royal family and a considerable amount of courtiers when she went down to break her fast in the hall. On a rare occasion she would feel a small pang of guilt for the avoidance of her husband, after all he had never been unkindly to her, and weeks after their marriage he had still refused to consummate it unless Sansa clearly expressed her permission. But that guilt always seemed to be smothered quickly by the modicum amount of freedom she always felt when she could walk through the halls and gardens without having a Lannister polluting her with their presence. On this morning however, it was not to be so.

Sansa entered the great hall with a small bounce in her step which was quickly lost after scanning the room and finding it void of human life, apart from a lone man slouching in his seat, taking large gulps from the goblet he clenched in his hand. She allowed a small frown to grace her features as her eyes skimmed over him. Oh, she knew perfectly well who he was despite his less than agreeable appearance that she remembered upon her first becoming acquainted with the Kingslayer. And although she had not spent a large amount of time in his company she knew full well that if she did not sit with the man, he would most likely strike up a conversation with her by way of shouting over the expanse of the room. Sansa sighed and resigned herself to her fate of breaking her fast with none other, than Jaime Lannister. Come to think of it she really couldn't remember ever being solely in his presence with none others accompanying either of them, which she was rather thankful for. Pulling her shoulders back and plastering a small polite smile on her lips, Sansa gracefully glided over to where Jaime seemed to be drinking enough to be able to fall into a pleasant stupor, and sat down opposite him.

He glanced up at the sound of Sansa’s skirts rustling as she made herself comfortable in her chair, keeping her eyes on his face even though in her peripheral she could see him slide his right arm from the table top to hide it from her view upon his lap. The man really did look horrid, he needed a haircut and he most definitely needed a shave. Tyrion had informed her that his brother had returned to Kings Landing four days ago, and by the looks of things he had done nothing but wallow in the bottom of a wine jug. Obviously, it was a coping mechanism that ran in the Lannister bloodline. She opened her mouth to greet him and faltered when his lips curled into a smirk, and a small glimmer came to brighten his green eyes. Sansa immediately came to regret her decision to sit with him.

“Well if it isn't my little good sister, the beautiful Lady Sansa Stark,” Jaime drawled. “Or should I say the beautiful Lady Sansa Lannister,” she inwardly cringed at that, and the smirk never left his face as he refilled his goblet as well as filling hers near to the brim.

“Have to say, I am exceedingly happy to have a drinking partner. Even if it is one that is likely to pass out after the fourth or fifth glass, but there’s no need to fret. I promise if that happens I will get you to your rooms safely,” he winked at her, and Sansa couldn't stop the blush that heated her cheeks at his mocking of her assumed lack of ability to be able to consume alcohol.

“Good morning Ser Jaime, it is good to see you have returned home in near to one piece,” Sansa bit her bottom lip as she reached for a bowl of berries. She shouldn't have said that, it was most definitely not how it was supposed to come out. Jaime let out a small chuckle that gave Sansa the courage to look back up at him and saw that he had raised his right arm above the table, looking quizzically at where his hand used to be.

“Near to one piece is correct my lady. It’s funny how I can still feel it there but every time I look, it is gone.”

Sansa knew that if it wasn't for the wine he had drunk, she wouldn't be hearing the underlining edge of sadness to his otherwise cheerful tone. She felt a sudden pang of empathy for him that she was rather angry at herself for as this was  _Jaime Lannister_ , and he definitely did not deserve for her to feel empathetic towards  _him_  of all people. Jaime lowered his arm back to his lap and looked to Sansa again, frowning when he saw her nibbling at a bowl full of berries. He reached over and pulled them away from her, had received an exasperated look before her face went blank. He couldn't help but laugh at her masking of emotion.

“Eating is cheating lady Sansa,” Jaime inclined his head to her goblet. “Drink up. I don’t just share my drink with anyone, and you don’t want to offend me do you?” again he smirked, and Sansa was tempted to bow forward and wipe that self-assured grin right off of his handsome face with the palm of her hand. Instead, she smiled sweetly at him and raised the goblet to her lips and took three large sips from it. Sansa really didn't have much of a like for wine but she found this quite tolerable, fruity with just the right amount of tartness to it so the sweetness wasn't sickly or overpowering.

“So tell me, has my brother done his duty as a husband and fucked you yet?” Sansa choked on the wine that was travelling down her throat, making an unladylike squeaking noise as she tried to force air back down to her lungs. She coughed, tried to calm the contracting muscles of her throat by taking a couple of large gulps from her wine while Jaime laughed at her as he sipped leisurely from his own.

“I’m sorry, that was rather crude of me,” he apologized and raised his left hand to his heart to ask her teasingly, “Can you ever have it in your heart to forgive me?” Sansa gave him another sweet smile, though inside she was sure she would die of humiliation. Why did he have to take such a delight in teasing her?

“Of course I will forgive you Ser Jaime. After all, I’m positive you would never have asked such a personal question intentionally. Sometimes some things just slip out without us meaning for it to,” Sansa kept her tone pleasant and Jaime gave her a knowing smile.

“My Lady is very gracious with her understanding and forgiveness, I thank you,” he replied with a tone equally as polite as the one Sansa had used, and she had to purse her lips to stop the smirk from forming there. Obviously Ser Jaime knew how to the play the game of courtesies just as well as she did.

 A silence settled upon them as they both sipped from their wine, and funnily enough Sansa had to admit that it was not at all awkward which was in its own, rather confusing for her. She did not like Jaime, he was a Lannister and her interactions with Lannister so far and been far from pleasurable. For the love of the gods they were literally trying to destroy her bloodline, and here she was sitting opposite the Kingslayer -  _drinking_ with the Kingslayer - and she felt comfortable doing it, that part was an oddity all on its own. Sansa glanced up at him as he lent forward and refilled her goblet, she smiled at him in thanks and he returned it with the slight curve of his own. Looking back down at the table Sansa tried to make herself sound as innocent as possible when she cleared her throat and murmured her question.

“Your hand Ser Jaime, did my brother do that to you?” her teeth worried at her bottom lip, afraid that she had over-stepped some boundary when he didn't answer right away. Sansa glanced back up at him, blushed at the intense stare he was giving her and automatically picked up her goblet and started draining the contents from it, hiding herself from his gaze. Jaime snickered, seemingly amused and tilted his head to the side as she brought the goblet back down to the table.

“No,” he reached across the table, skimmed a finger over the soft skin where Sansa’s shoulder met her neck. She couldn't help the flinch that followed the touch and his eyes shot to stare directly into hers as he again, refilled her goblet.

“Did my brother do that to you?” Sansa knitted her brows together at his question. This was really not something she wanted to talk about to the uncle of the nephew that ordered his noble knights to beat her.  _Father of the son,_ a little voice in the back of her head corrected her.

“No. Of course he didn’t,” she replied simply then hid behind her goblet again, taking large mouthfuls from it. Jaime folded his arms over his chest and Sansa noted how odd it looked with his missing hand. She wondered what it looked like beneath the linen that had been meticulously wrapped around it; she had never met a man short of a hand before.  _No, just a man that’s short half his body and you’re married to him._ Sansa raised an eyebrow at hearing that little voice again.

“I shouldn't think he would. So who did?” he asked his tone most definitely now empty of all its good humour.

“It was no one. I fell,” Sansa’s cheeks went red with her reply and it travelled down her neck to her chest, a wave of warmth washing through her with his probing questions.

“Really, is that right? It must have been a rather awkward fall for you, to be injured in such a peculiar way,” Jaime gave her an appraising look before continuing. “That was terrible lying Lady Sansa, I’m sure you could have done better.” 

 _He’s right that was a terrible lie._ Giving her head a small shake at that little voice, Sansa drained her goblet and this time reached for the jug and refilled it herself. The Jug was heavy and full, she hadn’t noticed anyone coming and replacing it with another. She took a quick peek around the hall. When she had arrived there was only Jaime and herself, when had the other Lords and Ladies started to fill the room? They took turns glancing over at the odd pair, hiding smiles behind hands and forkfuls of food as they whispered to one another. 

“I really don’t feel comfortable discussing this with  _you_  Ser Jaime. It is a personal matter that you need not concern yourself with,” Sansa inwardly congratulated herself at her near to being stern reply and thought that would be the end of it, but apparently the lion was not to be detoured from his line of questioning.

“Was it my nephew?”  _Son_ said the little voice again. “Did he do that to you?” Sansa stared at him and a grin slowly turned up the corners of her lips.

“Are you going to play the gallant knight and save me Ser Jaime?”  _Oh, you didn't just ask him that?_ The little voice reprimanded her, and Sansa had to suppress a giggle.

“Maybe,” Jaime murmured more to himself rather than it was a reply to her question. He met her big blue eyes with his and he couldn't stop the toothy grin that broke out at the dazed look he saw in them, “You’re drunk,” he accused.

“Actually, I’m delightfully warm and content. But thank you for your concern, Ser,” Sansa replied and Jaime chuckled. He stood from the table, made his way around to her and offered his left arm.

“Come, I better get you back to your rooms before I’m accused of corrupting the innocent.”

Sansa stood, but instead of taking his proffered arm she wrapped her left around his right. Something inside of him gave an unusual - but not at all unpleasant - lurch, and he looked down at her with a cocked eyebrow. She smiled up at him, gave his arm a little tug with her own before taking steps to leave the hall.

She chatted incessantly the whole way and Jaime dutifully nodded at her and gave her small smiles that she seemed to be content with as his response. She was a strange girl he thought, or maybe even a woman, he supposed. She was no longer the young girl that came to Kings Landing at the age of fourteen, she had blossomed into something uniquely beautiful which he could appreciate when he looked upon, but still, she was far too young for his tastes. He wondered if her age was weighing on Tyrion’s conscience, and then wondered if it would weigh on his own if he was in Tyrion’s place.

Though despite her age he had surprisingly enjoyed her company, she was almost a breath of fresh air. A breath of fresh air that he was sorely in need of after Cersei’s warm welcome home. He snorted to himself; never in his lifetime did he ever think that his sister would look upon him with such a clear picture of distaste on her face. It was disappointing to say the least, so he had drank and then he had drank some more, successfully putting himself in a worrisome free stupor. That was until he spied the fading bruise peeking out from the neckline of Sansa’s dress. He wasn't stupid; he had known who’d done it. He had only asked of Tyrion because he wanted to see what she would say, wanted to see if she would lie about his brother being abusive towards her in hopes of some intervention on a marriage that couldn't at all be to her liking, no offence to his brother intended. But she hadn’t, and he felt some sense of regard for her when she spoke those words clearing him of any wrong doing. Jaime was jerked back from his musings by a slender index finger prodding him in the chest and he looked down at the lady it belonged to. They had arrived at the door to her and Tyrion’s chambers.

“I said that you really need a haircut and a shave,” she repeated waging the same finger she'd poked him with, in his face like a scolding Septa and he grinned at her.

“Suggestion duly noted my lady. May I suggest that you partake in some water, and then retire for a rest?” he feigned manners. He was mocking her with courtesies, imitating her own. She smiled, all her politeness sorely lacking at that moment but she liked the way it felt, lighter, freer.  _You’re drunk,_ the little voice told her.  _Shut up,_ she replied back.

 Sansa locked eyes with the Kingslayer and she couldn't help but notice how pretty they were, and how they differed from Cersei’s. Hers were cold and unrelenting, but Jaime’s had warmth to them that made them seem to shine a brighter shade than his sisters.

“Did you know that when the sun shines on your eyes, they're the same colour green as a praying mantis?” Jaime raised his brows at her little observation and laughed.

“You’re comparing the colour of my eyes to an insect? Your better stop your flattery Lady Sansa before you make me blush like a maiden. Now go, off with you.”

Sansa bestowed upon him a parting twitch of her lips before she opened the door and slipped through it, closing it gently behind her.

Jaime let out a snort of breath through his nose. At least his brother wasn't married to a bitch, he thought. He could have done  _a lot_  worse for himself, although he could tell that his brother wasn't at all happy with the union. He sighed, ran his hand through his lank hair and then scratched at his beard. The little wolf was right; it was time for a haircut and a shave. Cersei may be more receptive to him and his loss of hand if he didn't look like a beggar from Flea Bottom. And with that he made his way to his own chambers, his gait a little lighter than it had been in years.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED 20th June 2014

Sansa was dreaming. She knew she was dreaming, for such happy feelings as the ones that were now warming the long forgotten corners of her heart just didn't exist in her life anymore. Sitting with her legs folded beneath her and Lady’s snout nuzzling into her lap, she let her shoulders slump forward and relaxed as a queer sort of smile flitted across her face, her hand absentmindedly scratching behind her wolfs ear. Slowly all the pent up anxiety started to drain from her body, she was home, she was in the north sitting in a field with mud streaking the skirt of her gown and grit under her nails, and she no longer had it in her to care that she could look less than a lady should.

Tears came to sting at her eyes and Sansa fluttered her lids, tried to blink them back even as a stray fell from its perch and made a trek down her face. She didn't flinch, didn’t feel at all surprised when a calloused thumb brushed over the line of her jaw and wiped the tear away. She turned, looked to her side and gave a small sad smile to the man that sat there. He watched her with his brows furrowed together and a sad smile of his own propping up the corners of his lips as he moved his thumb up her cheek, removing the remaining dampness from her skin.

“Why do you cry, Sansa?” he asked and hearing him speak brought new tears to blur her vision. Her chest clenched, became tight as that voice that she thought she’d long forgotten reverberated in her ears.  

“Because, I’m never going to get the chance…” Sansa was cut off by a sob erupting up from her throat, and he gave her a sympathetic look.

“Never going to get the chance for what?”

“I’m never going to get the chance to apologize. Gods I have treated you so badly, I am so sorry Jon,” she looked at him, her eyes pleading for forgiveness as the first tendrils of fear wrapped around her heart. He wouldn’t accept her apology, she had done too much for him to ever like her, and he sat there silently staring at her with his face an emotionless mask. Then one of the most beautiful things that Sansa had ever seen happened, Jon smiled at her. Not one of the small solemn smiles that he usually directed at people, but one that curled his mouth up enough to show a row of straight white teeth between his top and bottom lip. One that brought a small twinkle to his eyes that she had only ever seen before when he had looked at Arya.

She let out a small whimper as he pulled her into his arms and she buried her face into his shoulder. Letting her tears flow freely she ignored the small nudges of Lady’s snout at her leg as he gave her small awkward pats of comfort on her back and rubbed small circles between her shoulder blades. Jon pulled away slightly, dropped a peck of a kiss upon the top of her head before resting his chin there and Sansa couldn't stop the laugh that escaped from her mouth. Never in her life had she thought that she would share such affection with her bastard brother. No, he was not her bastard brother. He was just her brother, Jon. And it seemed the longer he held her in his arms, the more insistent Lady’s nudges to her leg became.

She didn't want to wake up yet, she didn't want to leave the protective embrace that she found herself wrapped in. She finally felt safe, for the first time since she had seen her father’s head hacked from his body, she was protected. She knew that Jon would do anything in his power to keep her from harm, he would fight for her and she didn't want to leave him, not yet. But Lady continued to nudge at her harder and harder.

Then Sansa started to feel the strength from Jon’s arms around her fade, and she tried to cling to him tighter, the meagre muscles in her arms straining with the effort.  _Not yet, not yet, not yet,_  but there was nothing now to cling to but air. She pulled back, looked at Jon’s diminishing figure and that small sad smile that had once again reclaimed its place on his face. She was yanked backwards; with her heart aching and throat taut she turned to scowl at Lady but had instead found her calf gripped firmly in the jaws of a young lion. It gave her a low grunt as it yanked her again, pulling her further away from her brother as she turned back to Jon. She reached out for him with one hand and dug the nails of her other into the soft ground beneath her.

“Jon!” she screamed and her voice trembled as the anxiety she thought she’d been rid of returned. The tips of each of her limbs tingled as it coiled its way up, burning a path through her body until it all came crashing together in her chest. Her mouth gaped open as she fought for breath and Jon was nearly gone, fading with the waning sunlight of the day. She clutched desperately at the grass around her, tried to pull herself towards him but the young lions jaw were strong and it gave another powerful tug to her leg.

“Jon!” She thrashed her leg against the young lions grip and with the sad smile still gracing his lips, Jon reached for her.

“Thank you Sansa,” it was nothing more than a whisper and then he was gone as the sky was blanketed by the never ending inky blackness of the night, and the young lion behind her gave an almighty roar in his triumph.

 

* * *

 

Sansa’s lids opened, a panicked scream stilling in her throat, gagging her as her eyes locked with Joffrey’s cold and cruel gaze. Her leg hung from the side of the chaise she rested upon and the King nudged it hard with his booted foot.

“About time you woke up,” he bit out impatiently. “For a brief moment I’d thought someone may have broken my toy—” he sneered at her “—but maybe you  _have_  been broken, since you continue to sit there like a dim-witted fool.”    

Joffrey raised an expectant brow and Sansa hurriedly pushed up from the chaise, her head swimming and throbbing as she tried to gain her balance. Bending her body into a messy curtsy that made Joffrey snicker, she smiled politely up at him from her lowered position.

“My King, I am always humbled by the generosity you show me by gracing one such as myself with you presence.”

The words slipped easily from her mouth and Joffrey snorted then gestured with his hand for her to rise. She timidly stood back to her full height, keeping her eyes at the level of Joffrey’s nose as she waited for him to make the reason for his appearance known, hoping and praying in the back of her mind that Tyrion was still closed up in their bedchamber.

“Do you know what day it is today Sansa?” Joffrey asked. She tilted her head to the side in thought but her mind remained foggy from the wine she’d consumed that morning, and she found it hard to riffle through the scattered and half-thoughts that floated around in her head. Sansa bit the inside of her cheek as sweat came to dampen her underarms, and she gave him an airy, slightly confused smile.

“My King, I apologize but I do not,” Joffrey’s lips lifted up into a snarl at her answer and a shiver of dread danced down along her spine, punctuating its steps with a stomp on each vertebra it travelled over.

“Was there not an invitation sent to you to meet my betrothed and me for the mid-day meal on this day?” he asked. Sansa pulled in a shaky breath through her nose, knowing that she would not be coming away from this interaction with Joffrey unscathed. Ignoring the dark smirk that Ser Meryn Trant was giving her from over their Kings shoulder, she dropped herself gracefully to the ground in a placating manner, her head bowed and palms flat against the floor.

“I whole heartily apologize for my absence your Grace. It was never my intention to offend neither the Lady Margaery nor you. Please tell me how I can make right this most atrocious error,” Sansa spoke meekly. In reality she didn't really need to ask how she was going to make right this mistake, Ser Meryn’s presence in her chambers was clue enough.

“Sansa stand,” Joffrey ordered, his voice taking on a gentler tone than it had before. She pulled herself back up from her knees and again, kept her eyes trained on Joffrey’s nose.

“Look at me Sansa,” He demanded and she did. Her eyes flitted up to meet his and the malicious glint she saw in them showed the tone of his voice to be the lie for what it was. Joffrey was not, nor would he ever be, a gentle person. He stepped back from her, offered her a sneering smile before inclining his head to the knight he now stood beside.

“Ser Meryn,” he ordered simply and the knight moved to close the space between himself and Sansa. All she saw was a flash of movement before the back of the knight’s gloved encased hand connected with her cheek. Her head flung to the side as a small gasp passed from between her parted lips.

“Look at me Sansa,” Joffrey commanded through his smile. Sansa obeyed.

“Ser Meryn, again,” another flash of movement seen from the corner of her eye as the knight’s hand met with her other cheek and she felt something crack as pain blossomed over her face. Her whole body trembled from the intense ache, yet she kept her lips pursed tightly together in a thin line, not willing to allow the release for the screams of utter agony that were building up in her chest.

“Sansa, look at me,” Joffrey asked of her softly and again she met his eyes with her own.

He stepped forward, his eyes searching hers for the hatred she felt in every fibre of her body for the wicked King that stood before her. He smiled wide with delight when he found nothing there but pretty blue pools of emptiness. Joffrey raised his hand, ran the backs of his fingers along her cheek in a tender caress sending dull throbs deep into the bone.

“Tell me Sansa, the next time you are invited to dine with me will you forget?” he asked her gently as he ceased the stroking of his fingers and instead, cupped her chin in his hand.

“I will not your Grace. I thank you for showing me the error of my ways,” she smiled at him and the lifting of her cheek ignited the side of her face in pain.

“You are very welcome Sansa.”

Joffrey released her chin to clasp her hand in his; brought it to his lips where he brushed a kiss over her knuckles. He inclined his head to her in a small bow and Sansa removed her hand from his, stiffly lowered herself down into a curtsy and stayed like that until Joffrey and Ser Meryn had left her solar and closed the door behind them. She slowly rose on trembling legs and sat down on the chaise behind her, straight backed like the proper little lady that she was. She didn't dare to bring a hand up to her now swelling left eye and cheek - she didn't want to feel the damage nor see it - feeling it was enough for her as the throb in her face became more intense with each second.

Sansa wasn't sure how long she sat there for; time was lost as she escaped into herself. She saw green fields, forests with streams running through them and deer dashing for cover. Gods, she could almost smell the musky dampness of the forest floor if she strained her mind hard enough. She could hear the mocking laughter of Jon and Robb as they directed snide comments to one another while their blunt practice swords came together in metallic clangs. She could hear the distaste in Arya’s voice as she complained about spending another sunny afternoon in the solar embroidering, and she could hear Bran’s footfalls throughout the halls as he excitedly ran through them to notify their father on his progress with his bow. She could feel her mother’s hands lovingly running through her mass of auburn waves as she told her stories of knights and ladies, and she could feel the embrace of Rickon’s chubby little arms around her neck when he would climb into her bed after having a bad dream. But most of all, above everything else, she could hear her father’s deep voice echoing around her as he told her that he loved her, his northern princess.

Giving a dainty sniff, Sansa shifted to retrieve her embroidery from the small side table beside the chaise, and meticulously started pulling her needle and thread through the silky material. Concentrating on it made her head throb, and she could barely see through the swelling of her left eye, but she felt a calm settle upon her in taking up the simple task of the pushing and pulling of her needle. And in her ears all she could hear was the constant chatter of her brothers and sister and she smiled her sad little smile, because she knew that Joffrey may be able to break her body to his will but her memories, he could never break those, never take them from her. They were hers and hers alone and she would rather throw herself off of the top of the highest tower in this godforsaken Keep, than let him have them.

 

* * *

 

Tyrion felt that he had dawdled for long enough and raised himself up out of the sunken tub. Leisurely drying himself off, he dressed and then made his way out of the bathing chamber and through to the solar. He was greeted by the back of his little wife as she sat on the chaise, embroidering  _again_  it would seem. He rolled his eyes; he couldn't comprehend how the girl didn't keel over and die from pure boredom. Seating himself at a table he filled a goblet with the deep red delight that was wine.

“Hello Sansa. How is the day treating you so far?” he asked then took a large sip from his goblet, his body relaxing as the biting liquid tingled at his taste buds and warmed his throat.

“Fine thank you my lord, and yourself?” Sansa didn't acknowledge him by turning her head, just continued with the mindless push and pull of her needle.

Tyrion raised a brow at her reply; there just wasn't something not quite right about her voice. There was usually an unwavering politeness to her tone that never ceased to grate on his nerves but today it was surprisingly lacking and was instead replaced by something flat, emotionless and dead and he knew that something was wrong. He stood from his seat cradling the goblet in his hand and went to the chaise Sansa was seated upon. He had no intention of stopping the curse he uttered at seeing her face as she looked back at him through empty eyes, and he felt more respect for this broken girl before him than he ever had for any brave knight returning home wrecked and battered from war.

Both her eyes were darkening from the rupturing of blood vessels, her left swollen and puffy and its usual snow white sclera bright red with blood. Bruises were breaking out over both her cheeks but the colouring on her left was far worse than the right. A small laceration had opened up over her left cheekbone where the skin had torn from the force of…what? He didn’t yet know. Tyrion let out a shaky breath before he spoke.

“Sansa, how did this happen?” he asked, his eyes surveying her injuries.

“I forgot about a dining engagement with Joffrey and Margaery. The King was displeased,” she spoke and Tyrion couldn’t help but be impressed with how her voice never even wavered, not once.

“He had one of his knights beat you? He can’t do that, you are my wife.”

Tyrion received a sympathetic smile from Sansa for his words and he was completely taken aback by it. This girl whom had been abused, this girl who should by all rights be the one receiving sympathy, was giving it to him.

“He is the King. He can do as he pleases,” the resigned tone of her voice as she whispered this was enough to make his blood boil. Nobody should have to accept this as being their fate. He shook his head as he clenched his jaw and furrowed his brows.

He really wasn't quite sure what to do for the girl, he had no experience in taking care of people being wounded and the last time Joffrey had ordered Sansa beaten he had refused to let any Maester attend her. And by the looks of her bleeding eye and sever swelling to the left side of her face, he could only conclude that there was perhaps a chance of her having some type of internal injury.

“Sansa, will you be all right waiting here for me while I go and get my brother?”

She gave a small nod and Tyrion handed her his wine, “Drink this; it will numb a bit of the pain.”

Tyrion watched her take a small swallow from the goblet and her face scrunched up - as much as it could with all the swelling - when the sourness of it hit her tongue. Then he left her, battered and bruised, broken inside and out, sitting straight with a hand resting in her lap while she took dainty sips from his goblet. Forever the lady, he thought to himself as he went in search for his brother. A brother that in truth, he wasn't sure would even care about the plight of a lone wolf.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED 20th June 2014

Jaime hated being unceremoniously woken from sleep, especially when that sleep was curing him of a throbbing headache brought on by far too much wine consumed far too early in the morning. But as he studied the woman sitting before him he felt all ill will towards his brother leave him. His stomach gave a sickening churn at what had been done to her, seeing a woman in this condition didn't sit right with him and he wanted nothing more than to find the knight that had marred her beautiful face so he could slit his throat. He instead knelt down in front of her and gently held her chin in his hand, tilting her head from side to side.

“Gods Tyrion, I can’t see shit with all this swelling. Go and get me a wet cloth.”

Jaime let go of her chin but stayed kneeling before her. She didn't even look sad nor frightened or even angry, just a hollow shell of the woman that he had left in her rooms mere hours ago.

“Sansa is there anything that you want that I can get you?” he asked, feeling rather inadequate. There really wasn't that much he could do for her. “Wine please,” she requested.

Jaime felt a pang of sadness at her empty voice, but he was more than happy to comply with attending her so long as he felt like he was helping her in some way. In truth he felt a little guilty, that maybe her current state was some of his fault for he was the one that had filled her goblet time and time again with wine this morning. He was the one that had taken the bowl of berries away from her so she was essentially drinking on an empty stomach. Maybe if he hadn’t done these things she would have remembered to attend her engagement, and her delicate porcelain skin wouldn't have been debased in the way it was now. He smiled to himself in irony, for here he was filling her goblet with wine once again.

Tyrion returned with a damp cloth and Jaime gently held it to the left side of Sansa’s face as she took small sips from her wine. He sighed and ran his fingers through his much shorter hair, for he knew that if he really wanted to take the swelling down he needed something a lot more effective than this. He glanced over at his brother who was hovering uncertainly beside him; he had obviously been thinking the same thing.

“Tyrion, go to Pycelle and get me a couple of comfrey poultices. If the old bastard doesn't give it to you tell him I will come myself to retrieve them and I’m sure he doesn't want that,” Tyrion smirked at him, gave a small pat to Sansa’s hand and then left. Jaime turned back to her, saw her body rigid and straight. Always the proper lady, he mused.

“You know you could relax a little, you don’t have to sit here like a stiff plank of wood. I’m not going to scold you for having less than perfect posture,” he mocked her. Teased her like he had this morning but it didn't have the effect he desired as she merely glanced down at him, and then returned back to staring out the window.

He suddenly felt like an idiot, holding the damp cloth to her face when she had two capable hands of her own and could just as well hold it in place herself. But she hadn’t rejected his offer of help and his sworn oath to Catelyn Stark seared through his mind. This was the least he could do for now. As he waited for Tyrion to return he put his mind to work on how to bring out the woman he had glimpsed this morning and the most ridiculous thought came to his head. He knew Sansa’s type, the proper little ladies that swooned over knights and every ludicrous romantic notion known to man. He hesitated for no more than three heartbeats before he cleared his throat and asked her, “Lady Sansa, would you do me the honour of singing me a song?”

She glanced down at him and he saw nothing in those pretty blue Tully eyes, and it had him wondering if he had actually ever seen life in them that morning, or if he had imagined it the whole time.

“I no longer believe in, nor sing any songs Ser,” she replied. Her voice sounding just as empty as her eyes were.

“Come now, that can’t be true. There must be a song that you still believe in,” he pressed.

She now held his eyes with hers and opened her mouth then promptly closed it again. He gave her a mocking smirk and he saw the smallest flicker of emotion pass across her face. Jaime wasn't entirely sure what that flicker was but it was better than nothing. He was wrong, so, wrong as Sansa’s soft voice murmured out from between her lips and pricked at his ears and a small smile came to his lips then faded as the words she sang brought a frown to his brow.

“And am I born to die?

To lay this body down

And as my trembling spirit fly

Into a world unknown

 

A land of deepest shade

Unpierced by human thought

The dreary region of the dead

Where all things are forgot

 

Soon as from land I go

What will become of me?

Eternal happiness or woe

Must then my fortune be?”

“Gods, could you have chosen anything more fucking morbid than that to sing?” Jaime asked and Sansa visibly flinched at his use of language. He gave a light chuckle, oh, he could work with this.

“What’s the matter Sansa? Not one for crude words such as  _fuck_?” he asked, smirking from ear to ear when a small scowl came to grace her swollen face, but she remained silent.

“Well if you have no objection to it, what the  _fuck_ is taking my brother so long?” Sansa took to staring back out the window again but he didn't miss the tightening of her jaw.

“You know this question might be a bit personal, so feel free to ignore me. But is my brother a good  _fuck_?” Sansa’s eyes shot back to him and narrowed, he saw fire there. Good.

“But then, from the way you choked down your wine this morning there is an immense possibility that he hasn't stuck his  _cock_ in your  _cunt_ yet.”

The crack of her hand connecting with Jaime’s cheek filled the room. She breathed heavily through her nose and the parts of her face that weren't bruised were a vivid red, along with her neck and chest. She stared daggers at him and despite the fact Jaime’s cheek was smarting he broke into a wide grin.

“Feel better?” he asked, and the anger in Sansa’s eyes faltered. Her heavy breathing slowed and she slumped back in the chaise and Jaime’s hand came away from her face.

“Gods yes,” she groaned.

He moved to sit down beside her on the chaise, glanced over at her and he found himself starting to feel nervous. He knew why, it was all on the tip of his tongue just waiting to be spoken. If he told her everything would she accept him at his word? Or would she be another woman that rejected his intentions? Would she even be able to bring herself to place her trust and safety in him? He wouldn't blame her if she couldn't; his family was causing the destruction of hers after all. Jaime was never one to abide violence towards woman and he couldn't just continue on knowing what was happening to her when he could stop it. He silently cursed the wench then for her influence on him, gods it would all be a lot easier if he could go back to being the Jaime before his capture. This was all going to turn out bloody horribly; he could feel it in his gut.

“Do you know how I was able to escape your brother?” Jaime asked her. Sansa kept her head resting on the back of the chaise but turned it to look at him and gave a small shake of her head.

“Your mother set me free. Well, set me free into the custody of her sworn sword but she let me go none the less. It was all conditional of course. First of all I had to swear that I would never again take up arms against any Starks or Tully’s—” he raised his right arm, looked at the stump and gave a short bitter laugh “—really shouldn't be too hard to keep that oath. The second thing I swore to do was to protect and bring you and your sister, if I can find her, safely back to your family. I intend to keep my oath Sansa,” Jaime could see the distrust in her eyes and he resigned himself to it. He couldn't expect much more from her, maybe one day she could learn to trust him. But it wouldn't be today nor would it be tomorrow, nor the next.

Sansa turned away from him then as the door to the solar opened and Tyrion stepped through the threshold and into the room. He made his way over to Jaime and handed him the poultices and his curiosity was arisen by the red splotch that spread over one of his brothers cheeks.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong brother, but have you been slapped?” Jaime laughed and inclined his head in Sansa’s direction.

“Your wife can be quite the little she-wolf when she wants to be. I have no idea how you have survived her temper this long.”

It didn't get as much of a reaction from her that he was after, but he made do with the unladylike snort she gave in response. Jaime asked her to lie down on the chaise - which she did - and he placed the poultices on her face, one on each side. His eyes travelled without him meaning them to, along the neckline of her gown where the tops of her breasts had come to peek out from under it due to her reclined position. He darted his eyes away, and felt like a bastard for leering at a woman whom less than an hour ago had been beaten by one of his men on the command of his… son. The word stuck in his head the way it would stick in his throat if he were to speak it. He settled down on the floor and leaned back against the chaise and took Sansa’s unfinished goblet of wine in his hand and took a swig from it.

“The poultices will help with the swelling and bruising. It will all heal faster if we apply fresh ones once to twice a day. I suspect she has a small break in her left cheekbone, but it should be fine to leave it. Despite the swelling the symmetry on her face seems to look the same on each side so there should be no dis-figuration from the break,” Jaime heard Sansa let out a shaky breath of relief from behind him at his words.

“That’s all well and good brother but what do we do about our dear nephews little temper tantrums? Neither you nor I can always be at her side,” Tyrion commented as he swirled his wine around in his goblet.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I know someone that would be practically chomping at the bit to protect our fair Lady Sansa,” Jaime replied as he thought of Brienne. After all, she made an oath to Catelyn as well, didn't she?

“We could always send father to scare the piss out of the little shit,” Tyrion suggested and Jaime cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Now why would our father go out of his way for this little wolf?”

“He wants Winterfell, does he not? He can’t have it with the girl dead and I doubt she will be producing an heir of her own any time soon,” Sansa let out a huff of breath at that and both Tyrion and Jaime turned to look at her.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is there something you would like to add to all this?” Jaime asked her as he slid a poultice from her face so he could make eye contact with her.

“Not that I trust either of you, purely because of your family name. But because I really can’t see my life improving much in the near future so there is no point in biting my tongue, all of you would have to be idiots to think that Robb didn't denounce my inheritance the moment he caught a whiff of my marriage to Tyrion,” she flicked her uncovered eye between the two brothers as she spoke, and then finally settled it on Jaime.

“Well aren't we the pessimistic one. You can go back to being a silent observer now.”

Jaime slapped the poultice back down on the right side of Sansa’s face and she let out a moan of pain that turned Jaime’s face into half of a cringe and half a grin. Tyrion watched them, mouth agape from where he stood leaning up against the mantel.

“Jaime, what have you done to my wife?” he asked his brother incredulously.

“Oh she is just drunk, pay no mind to her. And you know I am a god when it comes to infuriating people. She doesn't like words such as fuck, cock and cunt. So check your vocabulary around her.” Tyrion stared dumbly at him and for the life of him he was lost for words. He didn't even know how that could be possible; he always had words, for everything.

“No need to fret brother, I’m sure she will be back to being her normal faultless ladylike self by tomorrow.”

Tyrion was astonished; he had never seen Sansa act anything but a highborn lady. But of course, if there was anyone that could bring out a different side of her it would be his brother. He felt a small twang of sympathy for the girl. He could already see that she was going to be the butt of every one of Jaime’s jokes and snide remarks.

“Perhaps father would have done better to marry the girl to you instead of me brother. From your exchange just then, it would have all been far more entertaining for me than the current state of affairs,” Tyrion remarked and heard a huff of exasperation come from behind Jaime.

“Gods, I don’t want to be married to either of you,” Sansa mumbled from beneath her poultices. Jaime chuckled at her, “Your drunk, you can’t possible know what you want. Well I suppose I better go locate my wench.”

Jaime stood and slipped a poultice from Sansa’s face and gave her an exaggerated bow. “My Lady, try not to overexert one’s self,” he suggested then replaced the poultice before she could shoot fire at him from her eyes, then turned to his brother.

“If a large masculine looking woman named Brienne of Tarth comes to your door, please allow her entry. I will be back after speaking to father.”

Tyrion gave a nod to his brother before he left, and then turned his attention to his wife. “Sansa, would you like to move to the bed?” Tyrion asked her as he closed the gap to the chaise and removed the poultices from her face. She nodded and the smile he gave her was full of pity. He offered her his hand, which she took and he helped pull her up to stand.

“Come dear girl, maybe you can try and get some sleep.”

Tyrion guided her to the bedchamber and Sansa chose for once not to ignore the guilt that made her chest constrict over her treatment of Tyrion for the past few weeks. He settled her down and made her comfortable and before he could put the poultices back in place Sansa raised her hand and cupped it over Tyrion’s jaw.

“Thank you Tyrion, for being kind to me,” he smiled at her and gave a small nod before replacing the comfrey and leaving her to rest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's sad song: "A Time to be Born and A Time to Die" - Idumea


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED 21st June 2014

Jaime had spent the better part of an hour roaming through the halls and grounds in search for the elusive, it would seem, Maid of Tarth. And all to no avail. He knew deep down inside that he was putting off the inevitable with his father, and was silently cursing his self for not sending Tyrion to do battle with him. His brother was far more capable with his tongue than Jaime ever had been. His hand rested lightly on the door knob and he sneered. Here he was, a man grown, and he still hesitated at voicing his opinion to his father and it made him fell pathetic. It didn't help that when he had finally braced himself for the encounter and passed through the door that his eyes came to meet with Cersei’s first and then his fathers. He kept his face passive; the only tell-tale sign of the cringe that wanted pass over it a twitch at his eye.

His sister regarded him coolly and he couldn't help but notice how she kept her eyes at the level of his face, not daring to travel lower and take in his now hand-less arm that had disgusted her so days before. He swallowed hard, for her cold reception of him stung. Before he had left, before the march on the Riverlands she never would have greeted him this way. Back then if he had entered a room to find her in it her face would have lit up at the sight of him, a small intimate smile would have played at her lips begging for the chance to be seen. Gods she was so beautiful, more so than usual when she looked at him like that. Now she simply raised her brows at his presence and he consciously moved his right arm to bend behind his back, hiding it from her view.

“Jaime, what do you need?” Tywin asked and Cersei leaned back in her chair, one hand resting on top of the other at the edge of the table waiting for her brother to speak.

“I have come to discuss Joffrey,” Jaime stated as he took a seat opposite his sister at the table. She brought her eyebrows together in a questioning frown.

“What about Joffrey?” Cersei queried but he ignored her, turned to their father and directed his words at him instead.

“Something needs to be done with the boy. He can’t keep having  _my_ men beat highborn ladies into a bloody pulp because he feels slighted by some trifling thing he has seen as disrespect. It is most certainly not what the Kingsguard is for and as Lord Commander; it’s embarrassing to learn of these numerous incidents.”

Jaime kept his eyes on his father as he spoke, not once looking toward Cersei and he could see from the corner of his eye that she was already starting to seethe.

“And what incident has…” Tywin begun before being cut off by Cersei. “I hope we aren't speaking of Sansa, the dim little dove with the traitor’s blood?” she asked and now Jaime looked at her, his stare hard as he took in the glint of malice in her eyes as she spoke of Sansa.

“And if I am?” he asked her.

“Well, I would like to know why you would even care about what happens to her,” Cersei studied her nails in a bored manner, her lips quirking up almost into a sneer and Jaime could see that she held no more regard for the little wolf than her son did.

“Gods Cersei, what sort of child have you raised for him to think it's appropriate to have a woman beaten over a missed mid-day meal?” Cersei raised her head up and a small patch of pink came to blemish each of her cheeks.

“There is nothing wrong with Joffrey! The girl slighted him! She should never have deemed to do so!” her temper rose in the defence of her favourite child, and Jaime could only but feel saddened by her turning the other way at Joffrey’s actions.

“I thought after everything Robert put you through that you would have taught your son never to raise a hand to a woman,” Jaime shook his head at her; he never thought that he would feel such disappointment in his sister.

“He is the  _King_ ,” Cersei hissed back at him. “He can do as he pleases, and he has  _never_  raised his hand to the girl.”

“No, he has had my men do it instead! Ordering knights of the Kingsguard to beat a highborn lady, an innocent, your brother’s wife! Seven hells’, her cheekbone was broken!” Jaime roared as he slammed his fist down on the table top and he felt satisfaction run through him when Cersei flinched, moving further back into her seat.

“Oh would you both shut up.”

Jaime and Cersei both turned to their father who was rubbing at his forehead irritably. Jaime let out a breath, attempting to calm his temper.

“Father if we lose Sansa we lose our claim to Winterfell, it’s as simple as that. It’s a broken cheekbone today; maybe it will be a broken neck tomorrow. Something needs to be done,” Jaime stated, feeding his father’s craving for power.

“Your brother is right Cersei. You either rein the boy in or I will. Do you understand?” Tywin asked his daughter.

“Father I…”

“ _Do you understand_?” Tywin bit out each word at his daughter and her cringe deepened with each syllable.

“Yes Father.”

“I don’t want to hear of any more punishments doled out to the girl, make that clear to him Cersei. Now if that is all, you can both get out.”

Jaime was the first to rise and leave his father’s chambers. Though his efforts were in vain, for he knew that his sister would corner him as soon as she could, especially after that little discussion. He did not want to be alone with her. All the emotions that she had brought out in him since he had been back were all too close to the surface. He didn't want to quarrel with her, didn't want to turn the only thing he had left in his life into something bitter and hated. He just wished that things could be like they were before he had left. Although he knew that he had made some alterations to himself while he was away, but it in no way should have affected his relationship with his sister this significantly.

But he wasn't the only way that had made alterations to themselves. There was something inside Cersei that was different; she had replaced her hunger for him for something else. It was the same thing he saw in Tyrion and his father and Cersei had always had it in her but it was never this consuming. The things Tyrion had told him, having all of Roberts bastards murdered, innocent children. Maybe the thought of it wouldn't have made him flinch over a year ago but it did now. But then who was he to judge, he thought, as an image of the Stark boy ran through his mind. He was just as capable when it came to destroying the life’s of innocent children as his sister was. Maybe they were no longer the exact reflection of the other but they were still bloody close to it.

Jaime lengthened his stride, and he could hear Cersei’s footsteps behind him increase in speed until she was almost running. She was close, only a few more seconds and she would be on him, he wasn't so pathetic yet that he would break into a run just to escape her advance. He felt her hand enclose around his arm above his shoulder and she tugged until he his back made contact with her front.

“Don’t you try and avoid me Jaime,” she hissed in his ear and he turned to face her.

“Oh, and here I thought after the way you greeted me when I returned that you would like nothing more than for me to avoid you.”

She looked almost wounded by his comment. He searched her face, he was very much doubting that he could still read the truth from the lies anymore just by looking at her.

“I’m not doing this out here, come with me.”

Jaime followed her into a small sitting room, most likely one of many that were rarely used. Cersei eased herself down onto the chaise and looked expectantly at Jaime to join her. He shook his head softly and lent himself up against the wall by the door. He wasn't sure if this was going to be a conversation about Joffrey or about them, maybe it would be both.

“What has happened to us Jaime?” she asked him and he felt a little lurch in his chest for the sadness he heard in her voice.

“I thought it was quite obvious sister, I lost a hand,” he replied and she looked at him like he was a petulant child.

“I was in shock; I hope you aren't going to continue to hold that against me. I have been through so much while you were gone, more than you could ever know. I missed you Jaime, missed knowing that you were behind me, supporting me.”

Jaime’s jaw twitched. So she wanted sympathy, he would give her as much as she gave him. “Please do not spout to me about what  _you_  have been through Cersei.  _You_  have no idea what I have been through, all so I could return to  _you_  and  _you_  turned me away,” he could feel the anger coiling tighter inside him, his jaw tight as he spoke to her.

Cersei stood and took slow deliberate steps towards him. She cupped his face in her hands and looked into his eyes as one of her thumbs stroked along his cheek. Gods she was beautiful. He missed her, and he wanted her. It took all his willpower not to wrap his arms around her; he didn't want to give into her this easily. He wanted to see her fight to be with him.

“Is this what has become of us then brother? Is this what you want?” she asked him in a whisper, Jaime swallowed hard.

“No, I don’t want it to be like this. I want us the way we were. But we can’t go back to the past when the both of us have changed. We have to accept the new things about each other before we can be us again.”

Jaime felt her body tense against him before she pushed herself away. “The only one of us that has  _changed_  brother is  _you_. It would seem the best piece of you left along with your hand,” Cersei snarled at him. Jaime’s heart sunk and he felt like a fool but he wouldn't let it show.

“And here I thought the best part of me was my cock, how very wrong I have been,” he gave her a crooked smile and Cersei finally let her disdain for him show on her face.

“When did you become so weak?”

Not wanting an answer to her question, she yanked the door open and stormed past him out of the room, leaving Jaime to sink down the wall until he was sitting. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a deep breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding in.

He couldn't have imagined his encounter with his sister going any better and no matter how bad he had prepared for it to be, it still hurt. He still loved her and he didn't think he was ever going to stop loving her. How could he? She was his sister; he would always love her no matter what happened between them. This is not how he had imagined his return home, far from it. The only heated words shared between them should have been from the result of them being in the midst of him burying his cock to the hilt inside her, and he had as of yet to even touch her in any sort of an intimate manner.

Jaime pushed up off of the floor and forced his legs to take the walk to his chambers; he was not in any sort of mood for company and would not be heading back to his brother. Gods where had it all gone so wrong? The mere thought of Cersei is what had kept him fighting to stay alive over the past year. How could she not see that he needed her now more than ever, that they needed each other now more than ever. But she kept turning him away, kept playing her games with him like he was one of her puppets that she could twist and bend to her will. He was not a fucking puppet for her or anybody else to use. He was Jaime Lannister for fucks sake and she was treating him like some green boy she could coax into doing her bidding with a few caresses and some sweet words.

Jaime’s blood started to heat and he relished in it. Far better to feel anger, he thought, than to feel the little pin pricks that she had poked in his heart days ago, open anew. So lost in his thoughts and irritation, he didn't see who he was staring at with unseeing eyes until he had nearly smacked into her. Brienne stood before him, arms folded over her chest and her brows creased together into a frown as she looked over him.

“Gods woman, you’d think with your size it would be impossible for you to sneak up on people. Apparently not,” Jaime continued walking and Brienne fell into step beside him.

“You are looking well,” she observed and Jaime snorted.

“Tell me Brienne, does your oath to Lady Stark extend to her daughter?” Jaime asked and she gave him a curious glance before she stopped and turned to him.

“Of course, why do you ask?”

“It would seem that the Lady Sansa is in need of some… day to day protection.”

Brienne clasped his forearm in her hand, her grip tightening as she regarded the man before her. “Why would she need protection when we are taking her to her mother?” she asked between clenched teeth.

“You’re not stupid so don’t act it. Do you think that we can just up and leave with my brother’s wife and nobody will pay any mind to it? We wait until the opportune moment, preferable when I can hold a sword in my left hand without it weakening within ten minutes.”

Brienne let go of his arm and they continued walking, she weighed his words in her head and knew them to be truth. She knew she could trust him, knew of his desire to fulfil his oath and do the complete opposite of what everyone thought he would do. To show them all he had honour.

“What do you need me to?” she asked him finally.

“You will just need to watch over her when neither I, nor Tyrion, can be there. I still have my duties to the Kingsguard to uphold. I can’t watch her every waking moment.”

Jaime stopped outside his door and smirked at Brienne. “You will get to be her knight in shining armour. Three doors down on the left, Tyrion is expecting you.”

Brienne gave him a small nod before continuing on. He entered his solar and his eyes immediately went to the jug of wine that sat on a side table along the wall, he could already taste it on the tip of his tongue.  _Fuck it,_  he thought as he strode over to the table and poured himself a goblet of the deep crimson liquid. He hoped that the drunker he got the more likely it would for him to have a dreamless sleep, he wasn't sure if he could take another night of his sister’s image filling his dreams only to awake to find her absent.

“I shall conquer this,” he mumbled to himself. He just wasn't entirely sure yet, what ‘this’ was.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED 24th June 2014

Sansa was bored. There was just no other word for it. This was the fifth day that she had spent holed up in her chambers and she wanted nothing more than to be outside feeling her skin soak up the warmth of the sun. Though, she did grudgingly agree with Jaime when he had told her that “If she wanted to walk around looking like she had been trampled by a horse then to go ahead. It was her deathbed.” She knew that the gossip mills would be running in overdrive if she had dared to show herself around court looking the way she did. She brought a hand up to her face and brushed her fingertips over her left cheekbone, most of the swelling had receded but there was still some puffiness present. Not that it really mattered considering all of the extensive bruising that still remained. The poultices that Jaime insisted she use daily were really doing quite a remarkable job, though she was childish in her resolution to never admit that to  _him_. They seemed to bring the bruising out a lot faster and she now found that instead of seeing blues, purples, and blacks, she was seeing some lingering green but mainly yellow and brown. The constant dull thud and pain she felt whenever she smiled didn't subside, and Jaime had told her there was nothing to be done for the redness on the white of her eye, that would have to heal in its own time.

The four of them, herself, Tyrion, Jaime and Brienne had all settled into somewhat of a routine. She would wake in the mornings to find Brienne waiting for her and they would break their fast together. Brienne would then remain with her until mid-afternoon when Jaime would enter and relieve her from her duties so she could go and train with her sword before the evening meal. She was left alone with Jaime until the darkness would start to drown out the light and with it, brought Tyrion. The three of them would usually eat their evening meal together and the two brothers would laugh and drink and reminisce about exploits from their childhood. Sometimes Sansa would sit and listen attentively and laugh with them if their stories weren't too full of filth. But most of the time she would drown out their voices and replace them with Robb and Jon’s, imagine that it was her brothers that she was currently spending the evening with and not the two blond Lannister’s before her. In truth, she found the whole situation completely ludicrous. Who would ever have thought that she would be under the safe watchful guard of the two Lannister brothers? Not her for one, and if she was going to choose one out of the two of them that would come to her aid it would surely have been Tyrion and not at all Jaime. Yet, she found Jaime to be the more attentive one out of the two.

He was the one that brought the poultices for her face every day. He was the one that would bring her parchment and charcoal so she could draw, or silk threads of the colours she had ran out of for her embroidery. He would drop books off in the morning for her if he was passing by and would leave every night asking her if there was anything she wanted him to bring the next day. He would always try to include her in conversations and he relentlessly mocked and teased her, trying to coax her out from behind her wall of courtesies like he had the morning they'd broken their fast together. And the whole time Tyrion would sit there watching them with a knowing smile spread across his face. Yet what he thought he knew, Sansa couldn't guess.

She glanced up to where Jaime sat opposite her at the table looking out the window, then back down to her parchment again. With the tip of her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth Sansa brushed the charcoal lightly over the parchment, finishing up the shading below the line of sketch Jaime’s jaw. She frowned down at her “accomplishment” – it really only held a small resemblance to the man - and with an unsure hand, slid the finished drawing over to Jaime’s side of the table. She waited silently, waited for him to look down and acknowledge her effort but he remained stone faced as he stared out the window. Sansa sighed, and then pouted. The man had come in this afternoon in a foul mood. Had deposited a small lemon cake - with a beautifully iced rose adorning it - on top of the table and slumped down in the chair he now still occupied.

Sansa had stared at it, mouth ajar and eyes narrowed at the unexpected treat. She wasn't sure how he had found out that lemon cakes were her favourite type of sweet, but she felt the smallest twist in her heart that he had gone so far out of his way to do something nice for her. Of course, it all could have just been a coincidence and he'd had no idea that she was rather partial to that flavour of cake. She’d offered him half and he had refused, turned his head back to continue his stoic observation of the window and hadn’t moved or spoken to her since. She had wanted to do something nice in return for the cake and with her options being somewhat limited, it was either embroider or draw him something. She chose the latter, had gone about retrieving the materials she’d need and settled down in the chair opposite him to start the sketch he now  _completely_ ignored.

Sansa shifted uncomfortably in her chair, after an hour of sitting there her bottom had fallen asleep and her legs were starting to tingle. She stood up from the table and went to stand in the warm afternoon sunlight that spilled into the room through the window and raised her arms above her head in an arch and stretched her body out. She could see him, in the peripheral of her eye. Caught Jaime turn his head towards her and watch as she stretched the stiffness from her body. She wasn’t really quite sure why, but knowing that he was watching her brought a small smile to twitch at her lips. Gaining that small amount of attention from him, after he had been so distant the entire afternoon, had felt like a victory in some way. She left the room then to the bathing chamber, scrubbed the charcoal from her fingertips and returned to find little Tommen sitting on the chaise in her solar with a small golden kitten curled up into a ball and asleep on his lap. She smiled down at the Prince and gave him a little hair ruffle before joining him on the chaise.

“What do you have there in your lap Tommen?” Sansa asked the little Prince in a whisper. Tommen shifted closer to her on the chaise until his leg was pressed to hers, then carefully slid his hands under the sleeping kitten so as not to wake it and moved the little ball of fluff to Sansa’s lap.

“I asked my mother why I hadn’t seen you and she said that you were very sick, so I thought that I would bring you a present to cheer you up.”

A big smile came to brighten Sansa’s face upon his explanation and she looked down to study the sleeping kitten. Its fur was shiny and golden with an off-white underbelly and it was easily the fluffiest cat she had ever seen, especially where the fur poked out in a scruffy mane-like ring around its little face. She’d placed her hand over her mouth and laughed against her palm for Tommen had chosen to give her a kitten that looked exactly like a miniature lion. It was as if she was fated to be surrounded by Lannister’s and  _this_  was the God’s way of mocking her.

“What happened to your face Sansa?” he asked her. She hesitated as she looked at the sweet face of her... nephew, worry etching along his brow and eyes blown wide with innocence not quite yet lost. He was not like Joffrey, didn’t know how to be cruel and unkind. Tommen didn’t need to know of the hideous things that occurred around him, not when he had already experienced enough. She would protect him, she had failed Arya but she  _could_ protect Tommen.  

“It was just an accident little one. I wasn’t paying attention and got kicked by a horse.”

He looked at her, shock dominating his features before making way for curiosity and forcing Sansa to drive the conversation in a new direction, not wanting to have to concoct more lies. “Thank you Tommen, the kitten is perfect. Is it a girl or a boy?” she asked him.

“It’s a boy. What are you thinking of naming him?”

Sansa’s lips twisted in thought before glancing over her shoulder at the grumpy knight seated behind her. She smiled a sly grin; after all, the kitten did look like a Lannister. How unfortunate for the wee thing.

“I think I shall call him Ser-Smirks-A Lot, Smirks for short. Does that sound like a worthy name to you?” Tommen looked up at Sansa confused but nodded his assent none the less as Jaime directed a snort at her back.

“Thank you so much for the kitten Tommen. This is one of the best presents anyone has ever given me.”

Sansa tilted her head down and placed a feather light peck on the boys head and his cheeks flamed a red very similar to the shade of her hair. He nodded abashedly at her and got up from the chaise, giving her a shy smile as he took a step away from her.

“Do you think that I could come and visit you more often Sansa? I haven’t really had anyone to play with now that Myrcella has gone to Dorne.”

She felt sympathy for him. After all, she knew all too well what it was like to feel lonely here. “Of course you can, any time you want.”

She gave Tommen a sweet reassuring smile and he took a small step forward before wrapping his little arms around her neck. The hug was brief but fierce and before she could say anything else to him, the little Prince had brought his arms away from her and fled the solar with his cheeks still burning bright.

Sansa felt warmth at her back and turned her head to find Jaime behind her, leaning against the back of the chaise and his newly acquired golden hand resting just behind her shoulder. He kept his eyes on Ser-Smirks-A Lot as he leaned over her and with his left hand, scratched the kitten behind one of its ears.

“I hope you haven’t named the little fur ball after me,” he murmured in her ear and a small tingle ran down Sansa’s back as the warmth of his breath caressed her cheek. A small frown came to grace her features, not because of what he’d said but because she simply felt… odd, with him this close to her.

“I have no idea why you would believe so Ser,” the words came out in a breathy whisper that Sansa was startled by and she felt her cheeks heat with a blush. She turned back to look at Jaime again and this time he met her eyes while a small smile pulled at his lips.

“If that is what you believe Lady Sansa. Oh, and a horse? You shouldn’t lie, you’re terrible at it. ”

Jaime moved away from her, back to his chair and her eyes followed him. He sat there, looking out the window and drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table top in a mindless beat. The beams of sunlight lit up his hair, made it resemble spun gold and with her gaze she traced the line of his jaw and the slight kink of his otherwise straight nose. She continued, along the broadness of his shoulder and down the length of his arm to where his tapered fingers continued to tap, tap, and tap. Then she smiled, broad and smug at the realization that the table was absent one sheet of parchment.   

 

* * *

 

Jaime watched Sansa play on the floor with Tommen’s gift. Who in the seven hell's names a fucking cat Ser-Smirks-A lot? He knew that she had done it to get at him. Which, he should be pleased with since he had spent the last five days trying to get something out of her other than her usual courtesies. He had found it… off putting how easily the woman could hide herself away inside her fortress built by impeccable manners. Maybe that was the key then, pay as little attention to her as possible and she would eventually bring herself out from behind her walls.

But he didn’t want to spend his days ignoring her. He had never intended to do so today but he was afraid that if he had to spend the afternoon listening to her chirping that same bloody tiresome etiquette at him, that his already rank mood may have finally boiled over and it would of been Sansa that he unleashed his fury upon. It was all Cersei’s fault of course; she was accountable for all of his anger of late. She had successfully given him the cold shoulder for the last five days and it was starting to grate on his nerves. How dare she treat him this way? He had given up the better part of his life to be with her while she chased her dreams and she’d had the nerve today too blatantly touch that oaf, Osmund Kettleblack, right in front of him. It may have been the barest stroke to the back of the man’s arm but he had seen it and by the smug smile on her face when she had looked at Jaime, she had bloody well intended for him to see it.

It also didn't help that he was getting his own ass handed to him on a golden platter every morning by Addam. One of the Lannister’s men that he could have easily of bested with his right arm, was now disarming him within minutes. His left arm ached and he wished, not for the first time this afternoon, that he had removed his armour before coming to Sansa’s chambers. Instead he had chosen to spend that allocated time searching the markets for a bakery that sold the best lemon cakes. Tyrion had offhandedly mentioned that Sansa was fond of them and Jaime thought that if he could bring a genuine smile to her face, then it might brighten his day a bit. And it had, in a small way. But the remaining bruising and swelling on her face made him think of Cersei again and he was instantly brought back to his dark mood.

He thought of the portrait she had drawn of him, which he’d folded and slipped under his pauldron. He hadn’t thanked her for it - he probably never would - and she hadn’t said anything of it, just silently given it to him like he had her cake. He wasn't sure if he had actually ever received such a personal gift before, not even from Cersei. He thinks maybe it’s the fact that she doesn't expect anything from him in return for it, which catches him off guard. He is so used to everyone playing the game that it is hard for him to accept that Sansa isn't. If it had been Cersei that had stood before him and had stretched her body in the way she had, it would have been an invitation for him to come and put his hands on her. But it was nothing of the sort with Sansa, she was simply stretching.

That was something as well, why had he started comparing Sansa to Cersei? He’d been doing it a lot, but he wasn't really sure why. It felt almost strange, when he would look at Sansa’s curves or down the neckline of her dress when she bent forward, looked at her in the same light he would look at his sister. Maybe it was because he couldn't find anyone as truly attractive as he did Cersei. He had never been with, or wanted to be with anyone but his sister and yet he still looked upon Sansa approvingly no matter how odd it felt to do so. Maybe that was where that off feeling came from, he belonged to Cersei or  _thought_  he had and looking at Sansa in this way felt like a betrayal to Cersei somehow. But Sansa  _was_ beautiful; he could admit that. She was different from Cersei, but still very pleasing none the less. She had a certain ethereal beauty to her that made her stand out from all the woman in court, maybe even made her stand out from all the woman in Westeros. Just the same as Cersei’s type of regal beauty made her stand out from all other woman, they were both one of a kind.

He went back to watching Sansa play with the kitten. She looked so feminine and delicate and it stirred within him the need to protect her. As he looked at her, he knew that he would never allow another person to lay a hand on her in a destructive manner. Not because he had an oath to fulfil but because he  _wanted_ to keep her safe, because he  _chooses_  to keep her safe. And that made him feel good in way he had never felt before.

 

* * *

 

Tyrion stepped quietly into his solar without stirring neither Sansa’s nor Jaime’s attention. He gazed at his brother from across the room and watched with great curiosity as Jaime gazed at Sansa while she tugged a cord of leather across the floor with a kitten chasing behind it. He smiled to himself for he knew what he saw in his brother’s eyes when Jaime watched the little wolf, but he doubted that his brother even had the self-awareness to acknowledge it. Most likely not, since the poor fool still had a limb or two stuck beneath their sister’s thumb. But Tyrion knew of a way around that. He cleared his throat and stepped further into the room drawing both of their attention.

“What do you have there Sansa?” he asked as he pulled himself up to slouch on the chaise.

“Tommen gave me a kitten as a gift, his name is… Smirks,” she really did look absolutely delighted with her gift, and he really didn't want to do this to the girl so he hoped his brother would come in where Tyrion intended for him to.

“Oh, I’m sorry my dear but I really don’t bode well with cats in my company. They give me all sorts of ailments. I’m afraid we will have to give it back to Tommen.” Sansa’s face visibly dropped at the news and although he didn't look directly at his brother, from the corner of his eye, Tyrion could tell that Jaime had witnessed her reaction.

“He can stay in my chambers,” Jaime piped up immediately. “And you can come whenever you like to visit him.”

Tyrion hid his smile, “How gallant of you brother, never let them say there aren't true knight’s left in Kings Landing.”

Sansa beamed up at Jamie and Tyrion caught the small flash that passed over his brothers eyes. Ah, there it was again, he thought,  _lust_.

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED 26th June 2014

Jaime had a tendency to dislike formal banquets, so much so that he would be happy if he never had to attend another in his life. It didn’t help that the display Cersei was putting on for Joffrey’s betrothal was completely ridiculous. There was an abundance of courses, who in their right mind would serve so many? Jaime doubted that he would even sample a quarter of them. It was all such a blatant  _and_  distasteful display of Lannister wealth. Though the wine on the other hand, the wine he would drink. He’d sample every variety available and then crawl back to his chambers to once again spend his night alone.

Jaime scowled, turned towards Tyrion whom was already drowning himself in his cups. He was sure it wouldn’t be long before his brother would leave to find himself a pair of thighs to bury himself between. No, his brother wouldn’t be spending the night alone, whether he found a willing partner or slept beside the warm body of his wife, he wouldn’t be alone. At this very moment Jaime envied Tyrion, even envied Sansa and Brienne. He would much rather be spending his night in his usual manner in his brother’s chambers than surrounded by the players and hypocrites of court.

“What has your mind so engrossed brother?” Tyrion asked, observing Jaime’s far off expression.

“Oh I was just thinking about how I completely loathe these gatherings and how much I’d rather be somewhere else.”

“Or with someone else,” Tyrion snorted into his cup at his own clever remark. Not that Jaime could appreciate it since he still remained completely oblivious to his strong attraction for Tyrion’s little wife. Jaime cocked a questioning eyebrow at Tyrion.

“It has come to my notice that you seem to be enjoying the company of my wife brother,” he elaborated.

“You think I’m fucking her?” Jaime asked looking confused and Tyrion couldn't restrain his laughter. Just as he had thought, Jaime could be completely dense.

“Not that type of company, I meant her company in general. Talking to her, joking with her and you’ve been very attentive towards her needs brother, more so than I have so I thank you.”

Jaime stared at him for a bit. He wasn’t entirely sure on how to reply and instead, gave a shrug of his shoulders as he turned to look towards the group of dancing guests.

Tyrion lent in closer to Jaime until he was as near to his ear as he could get. “You know brother; I think she enjoys your company just as much as you do hers,” he remarked and brought his goblet up to his mouth to hide the grin that had formed there when Jaime turned back with a look of surprise on his face.

“She does not enjoy our company Tyrion, she has simply settled for the only companionship she can get. She dislikes us just as much as I dislike these fucking displays of—” he flicked his hand out to gesture at the crowd of nobles “—whatever the fuck this is. And considering I hate these things with a passion, that says a lot about what Sansa’s feelings towards us are,” Jaime slumped down in his chair after his little outburst and Tyrion couldn't help feeling badly for him.

“Do you want to know what I find to be most intriguing Jaime? You speak of Sansa’s dislike for us even though I do feel the girl is warming to us slowly. But you haven’t spoken one word of any abhor you may feel towards her,” Tyrion observed.

“That’s because I don’t feel any,” Jaime sighed and ran his hand over his face.

“If you want to fuck her, brother, I give you my full consent.”

Jaime’s mouth gaped open. That was the last thing he had ever expected to hear from his brothers mouth. “She’s your wife.”

“That’s right, she is. But not by choice, and if she is going to be married to a Lannister she may as well be fucked by one. One she may even harbour a fondness for. I find it very curious that your reply to my given permission was that she is my wife, not that you didn't want to.” Tyrion was starting to doubt his forwardness with Jaime; maybe he was far too drunk to sell this idea to his brother.

“I don’t want to,” Jaime stated plainly and Tyrion rose from the table.

“No Jaime, you believe you don’t want to because you’re being wrongfully blinded by someone else entirely.”

And with that Tyrion walked away, leaving Jaime to mull over his brothers words. There was no way that Tyrion could be serious, Jaime concluded. The whole idea of him bedding Sansa Stark was absurd; he doubted he would even be able to get fully hard for any woman that wasn't Cersei. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t appreciate a woman’s figure but fucking them was a completely different story. Jaime’s eyes drifted across the room and locked on his sister. She looked beautiful as always, yet he was surprised to find that the usual heat that accompanied his leering of her never came and  _that_  was slightly disconcerting. Obviously the celibate state he’d been in for far too long had left his body less responsive to the things that would have usually stirred his desire.

Cersei turned her heard to find Jaime, almost as if she had sensed that he had been watching her. She tilted her head to the side and gave him a flash of a suggestive smile where the very tip off her pink tongue flicked out to moisten her top lip. Jaime’s mood lifted instantly; maybe this wasn't going to be such a waste of a night after all.  He stood from the table and weaved his way in and out of crowds of people, making his way over to where Cersei had stood only to find her gone. Jaime was a tall man and had no trouble looking over the heads of others in search of her but it would seem his sister had eluded him. He gave a heavy sigh and instead of continuing in his search made his way out of the hall, he was in no mood to do the chasing any longer. He was tired of playing and he couldn't understand why his sister was behaving towards him the way she was, had she truly changed so much that she could care so little for him?

His thoughts were interrupted by his own grunt of surprise as an arm reached out from behind a tapestry and he was pulled into the alcove behind it. His eyes met with his twins and he was suddenly aware of her body pushed against his own, he could feel every curve, every lift and fall of her breasts as she took deep breaths in and out. She smiled up at him as her hand moved between them and brushed lightly against his cock which gave a twitch in response.

“Good evening Jaime,” she whispered as her hand went from brushing over him to cupping him.

Jaime placed his left hand on her waist, drawing her closer as Cersei went up on her tip toes and brushed her lips against his before sliding her tongue out and flicking it over his top lip. The choking smell of wine on her breath assailed Jaime’s nostrils and he gave a small cringe that Cersei failed to notice as she left his lips to nip along his jaw.

“I've missed you,” she said, slightly louder than before and her words came out slurred.

“How much have you had to drink?”

Cersei pulled her face away from his and frowned up at him. “Why do you want to know?” she asked, irritation flickering over her face.

Because this wasn't how he wanted her to seek him out, inebriated and not in her right state of mind. Her drunkenness put him off, any arousal that he’d felt had swiftly fled him. He wanted to fuck  _Cersei_ , not some slack mouthed version that could possibly end up vomiting off of the side of the bed halfway through him pounding into her. Jaime brought his hand up from her waist and gripped her upper arm and gently moved her back.

“I’m not doing this when you are drunk,” he stated flatly and the sneer that came to Cersei’s lips and made her nostrils flare was immediate.

“I didn't realize that your balls got lopped off with your hand brother.”

Jaime grinned at her and her face started to heat with anger. “If you are so eager to get a cock in you sister, that my rejection has made you this angry, I’m sure Ser Osmund will oblige you.”

She slapped him, leaving a small pink blemish behind on his cheek. “How dare you insinuate such things?” she hissed at him through her teeth.

“I never insinuated anything; just made a small suggestion is all.”

Cersei glared at him, eyes flaming with anger until she finally brought her hands up and smoothed the errant wrinkles out of the skirts of her gown. With one last scowl thrown in Jaime’s direction she stepped out from behind the tapestries and made her way back to the banquet. He followed her out shortly after and watched her disappearing figure as she turned a corner. He let out a small laugh for he could not find any other way to express himself at this moment. Not only was he not interested in fucking a drunken Cersei but she had pretty much made it so that he was not in any mood for fucking a sober Cersei in the near future either.

Jaime turned in the direction of his chambers and slowly started towards them. He may not have shown it to her but her words had stung; her words had done nothing but sting at him since he had returned to her. This was not the woman he had fallen in love with and although he wanted to help her he knew there was no way she would ever accept it. She didn't see the change in herself that everyone else did, didn't see that her hunger for power was consuming her. Cersei had one goal in mind and she couldn't see past it, and Jaime was starting to realize that he didn't hold a place in that goal. Unless of course, he conformed to be everything he was currently striving so hard not to be.

 

* * *

      

Sansa ignored the disapproving looks Brienne was shooting at her as they walked down the hall, the hood of Sansa’s cloak flicked up to cover the remaining traces of her injured face. She had decided - and Brienne had made her objections quite clear - to leave the sanctuary of her chambers for the first time in eight days. The sense of elation that had coursed through her the moment she’d taken her first step out the door of her solar, it almost made her feel roguish in a way. It was not like her to go against what she had been told to do, especially if the one giving her orders was a Lannister. But it was almost like she could hear Arya trailing behind her, encouraging her to go and find some freedom from her cage and it felt so incredible just to be doing what she chose to do for once.

“I don’t think Ser Jaime is going to like you being in his chambers without him there,” Brienne observed as she followed behind Sansa.

“Oh don’t worry so Brienne. I’m not going to touch anything; I’m just going to go visit Smirks. He must be so lonely stuck in there by himself all the time.”

Sansa hadn’t seen her kitten since the day Tommen had given it to her and even though she had only spent a couple of hours with it, she missed the little ball of fluff. It was the first pet she’d had since Lady and she was determined not to have this one taken from her. Sansa glanced back at Brienne and the usually stoic woman had a look of apprehension on her face, which to be honest, was taking all the enjoyment out of her little adventure. She stopped at the door to Jaime’s solar and turned towards her guard.

“Honestly Brienne don’t fret so much, he told me I could come see Smirks whenever I wanted to.” Sansa tried to reassure her but she could tell it wasn’t working. She inwardly sighed and tried a new tactic that she was sure was just as likely to fail.

“You can go to your own room now Brienne. Jaime or Tyrion will escort me back to mine when they have finished at the banquet.”

The look of shock on the woman’s face was enough to make Sansa want to laugh. She wasn't exactly good at telling people what to do anymore, but she was trying her hardest to keep her voice strong and commanding. “I will be fine here. I haven’t seen anything of Joffrey in over a week and he would never think to come here to look for me. Please, I just want some time to myself without having someone looking over my shoulder,” she begged, not in the least bit surprised how quickly her ordering had turned to beseeching.

“I can’t just leave you Lady Sansa. How about I wait out here instead of coming in with you, a good compromise?” Sansa nearly pouted but instead she nodded her head and as she slipped through the door to Jaime’s solar Brienne took up sentry in front of it.

She did a quick search around for Smirks then went through to the bedroom to find him curled up on the bed. A big grin broke out on Sansa’s face and she sat down beside the kitten. She ran her hand down his back, stopped at the base of his tail to give the area a little scratch.

“Hello little one,” she murmured to him and he gave her a little purr in response.

Sansa leaned back on the bed stroking Smirks as her eyes wondered around the room and stopped when she spotted the portrait she had done for Jaime, the corner of the parchment tucked beneath the frame of the looking glass, keeping it in place. Getting up from the bed Sansa wondered over to it and found it full of creases like it had been folded multiple times, almost to the point that it was starting to rip in some of the places where the creases met the edges of the parchment. She brought her hand up and ran her index finger over it and smiled, it looked like it had been handled a lot over the last three days and it caused a small layer of warmth to settle in the pit of her stomach that she couldn't explain.

A door behind Sansa opened and she automatically turned around at the sound to see Jaime striding into the room from the bathing chamber as naked as his name day. She let out a small squeak and hurriedly covered her face with her hands while Jaime cursed and dashed back into the direction of the bath. There was a sickening thud and then silence and she remained still, not daring to move while keeping her hands covering her face. Oh gods how completely and utterly embarrassing, Sansa thought to herself. She had just seen him naked, not that he didn't look nice naked but she had still seen him naked! Her face was already on fire but somehow it was able to burn brighter when she realized that she had just thought of Jaime looking nice naked.

Enough time had passed for Jaime to be able to cover his nudity, yet he still had not come back out to the bedchamber. Maybe he was waiting for her to leave; maybe she should go get Brienne. Sansa started to panic and separated two of her fingers so she could peek through the gap with her eye.

“Hello?” she called out timidly and waited for a reply that never came. Sansa slowly brought her hands down from her face and took a few hesitant steps towards the bathing chamber.

“Jaime, are you okay?” she asked and still there was nothing so she kept taking her small steps towards the door. It was slightly ajar leaving a small crack between the door and the frame. Bracing herself, Sansa peered through the gap and called out to him again only to still be greeted with silence.

Sansa bit down and nibbled on her lower lip. Maybe she  _should_  go get Brienne. But then, Sansa had already seen Jaime naked and she didn't want to put the woman through the same embarrassment that she herself had just been through. Taking a deep breath for courage, Sansa closed her eyes and slowly pushed the door open until it came into contact with something solid.

“Jaime,” she called out again, “I’m coming in.”

Keeping her eyes closed and using her hands to feel her way, Sansa moved past the door and then pushed it partly closed behind her. She dropped to her knees and started to take small movements forward, her hands feeling along the floor in front of her until they touched bare skin. Sansa brought her hand back instantly with a small gasp slipping from between her lips.

“Jaime, I really hope you aren't pretending to be hurt to try and get back at me for seeing you naked,” she whispered to him as she again reached out to make contact with the warm body in front of her.

She felt coarse hairs as she moved her hand over the area and discovered that it was his leg. Moving her hand back down to the floor but keeping her fingertips touching him Sansa traced the line of his body as the rest of her followed along behind her hand, her eyes firmly shut the whole time until she reached his face. She roughly prodded him on the top of his head and when Jaime didn't react to it she moved herself carefully around him until she was sitting behind him. After gently lifting his head off of the cold hard ground and scooting her herself forward a bit she rested it in her lap and felt around the back of his head for any signs of blood. Sansa let out a sigh of relief when she couldn't find any, though she had located a large round shaped lump on the side not far from his right ear.

Sansa moved a hand from his hair feeling her way to his cheek where she gently patted him three times and then pinched him hard. Nothing, she let out a groan. She should have gone and gotten Brienne.


	7. Chapter Seven

Jaime heard the groan before he realized that it was his mouth that it had evolved from. His lids slowly parted to find himself surrounded by a mass of curly auburn tendrils falling like curtains around his face. He tilted his head back a bit; his eyes traveled upwards and were greeted by a smooth expanse of soft unblemished porcelain flesh that led to a long slender neck and up into the comely face of Sansa Stark.

 

Her eyes were held closed and he could see small twitches in her rosy lips as she held back a small smile. Jaime took in a deep breath through his nose and all he could smell was her, a slight hint of citrus, sweet and warm. How had he not realized how good she smelt before? And she was so close, he wouldn't have to raise his head far to reach her lips, to be able to kiss them and they looked so supple and soft. Jaime gave his head a few quick shakes, what in the seven hell’s was he thinking of her like that for?

 

“Sansa, what are you doing?” He mumbled at her. Sansa’s smile finally shone through when she heard Jaime’s voice and he exhaled another slow breath as he watched the rapid movements of her eyes beneath her the lids.

 

“I’m listening to your breathing.” She stated as if it was something she was prone to do everyday.

 

“Why are your eyes closed?” He asked her.

 

Another soft, sweet smile came to grace Sansa’s lips. “Because you’re naked Jaime.”

 

He looked down and indeed found himself to be naked. He’s head felt a little bit hazy but everything started to creep back in and settle in place. He had been so caught up in being surrounded by Sansa that he hadn’t noticed the cold hard ground he was currently sprawled out on, the chill on his skin caused by the lack of garments covering him, all he had noticed was her.

 

Then Jaime thought about the reason as to why he was in this current situation and let out a small groan. Why was she in his chambers? Why had he run from the room like a blushing virgin maiden? He was in no way a modest man, yet when Sansa had let out that little screech of surprise and had covered her eyes from the sight of him he couldn't think of anything but what would be the fastest way to relieve her of the mortification she must have been feeling at that moment. But still, they were his bloody chambers; she should have been the one running from the room not him.

 

Sansa had seen him naked and Jaime tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind that was wondering if he was the first man she had ever seen in a state of undress. He moved then, to place the palm of his hand flat on the ground to push him up and promptly fell back down when a sharp shooting pain ran up his back and took the air from his lungs. He let out a moan of pain and felt Sansa’s hands come to flutter around his face as worry creased at her brow.

 

“Are you hurt?” She asked him as the tips of her fingers caressed down his cheek in a manner meant to soothe.

 

‘My back, I've done something to it.” Jaime again made to rise only to be met with the same results, gods he could barely move. He let out a sigh of relief when the pain lancing through his back subsided. “Sansa, you are going to have to help me.”

 

“Of course, what do you want me to do?” She asked him, her voice too cheerful for his liking, almost as if she was enjoying his current state of helplessness.

 

“Well you could start by going and getting me some pants.” He drawled at her.

 

Sansa nodded her head at him eagerly and shuffled her bum back leaving his head to fall from her lap and hit the ground with a thump. “Gods woman, be careful.” Jaime muttered under his breath.

 

Sansa moved to her hands and knees and started patting along the ground searching out a path with her hands while Jaime watched her, his mouth slightly hanging open in disbelief.

 

“Are you going to continue on with your eyes closed throughout all of this?” He asked dreading her reply.

 

“No, I will open them when I get into the bedchamber.”

 

Jaime felt the sudden need to nudge the woman with his foot, hard. “Or you could open them and keep your gaze averted so as not to spoil your propriety.” He suggested instead of giving in to his urges.

 

Sansa gave him a simple reply back. “No.” Jaime felt his jaw clench.

 

“Why the bloody hell’s not, it would make things a lot easier.” He growled at her and he could see Sansa give a small flinch at his tone.

 

“Because, it is not proper.” She snapped back at him.

 

Jaime lolled his head to the other side and stared at the wall across the room. He was afraid that if he had to continue watching her crawl around on her hands and knees with her eyes closed and her hands mapping out the way he really would end up booting her in the backside with his foot. He let out an irritated sigh and waited for Sansa to return with his pants and groaned when he realized that she would have to get them far enough up his legs for him to be able to reach with his **one** fucking hand so he could pull them up the rest of the way. Why couldn't anything be easy?

 

Sansa returned to the room with her eyes scrunched shut, clasping a pair of light linen trousers in her hands and tapping at the floor with the tip of her foot until she made contact with his side. She slid elegantly to the ground and waved the pants in the direction she thought his face was and exclaimed with victory in her voice like she had just emerged triumphant from a great battle with his armoire to retrieve the garment, “Pants!” Jaime couldn't help but grin at her.

 

“Sansa, I’m going to need you to pull them up my legs until I can reach them without bending my back.” He spoke to her calmly, almost soothingly as he revealed his plan to her and half expected her to bolt like a frightened mare at the thought of having to help dress him.

 

Sansa sat back on her heels and he could see the hesitation playing over her face until she turned it in his direction and gave a curt nod of her head. She immediately reached out to touch him and Jaime’s stomach muscles clenched when her soft hand came to rest there. She kept her hand close to his side and slowly started to move it down towards his hip leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. Jaime pulled in a sharp breath and his eyes trailed up from her hand along her arm and to Sansa’s face to see if she still held her eyes shut, and when her hand passed over his hip bone and his cock gave a twitch in response her thanked the gods that they still were.

 

“Sansa, what are you doing?” He asked her as her hand was coming dangerously close to something he was sure she would faint at the thought of touching. Sansa tilted her head in the direction of his voice and smiled a smile that he could almost think was sly.

 

“Following your leg down to your feet, eyes are closed remember.” Jaime swallowed the lump down that had settled in his throat. So much for not being able to get aroused by anyone but Cersei he thought to himself as he looked down at his cock. He knew he was already half hard and he watched as it gave another twitch when Sansa’s hand glided over a more sensitive area on his thigh. He slammed his head down on the ground and he felt Sansa jump beside him, this was incredibly wrong in every way he could think of. Jaime closed his lids and was greeted by an image of Catelyn Stark scowling at him with deathly intent sparking in her eyes and a very cruel looking dagger clenched in one of her hands.

 

“Are you alright?” Sansa asked him, concern clear in her voice. Her fingertips curled over his leg and brushed along the inside of his thigh and Jaime felt himself grow harder. Too long he thought, too long without intimate touch, which could be the only sound reason why his body was reacting this way. He clamped his jaw tight.

 

“Fine, just hurry up will you.” He said through clenched teeth.

 

*

 

Sansa bit down on her bottom lip as she made her way past Jaime’s knee and her hand curved over the muscle of his calf. This was so far from anything appropriate and she was sure that the entire court was going to come bursting through the door at any moment and catch Sansa with her hand roaming down the length of Jaime’s leg.

 

Gods what was wrong with her? She knew that there was a far more proper way of doing this; she knew that she didn't have to make her way down his leg in such an intimate manner yet that was the path she had chosen and her only reason being was because she’d **wanted** to touch Jaime. It was the real reason that she refused to open her eyes because if she couldn't see herself doing it then she could completely deny to herself that she had done it.

 

She had sat there for countless heartbeats waiting for him to awake while she nudged and prodded at him trying to stir him and then somewhere along the line those innocent touches had turned into caresses of her fingertips down the curve of his neck and along his collarbone. Her hand would come up and brush through the soft strands of his hair then would trace the arches of his eyebrows. She blamed the wine that she’d had with her evening meal as well as the wine that she’d had after it.

 

She was just so desperate to feel anything other then the overwhelming sense of helplessness that invaded her every waking and sleeping moment. She wanted to escape and she was now starting to see Jaime as her freedom. Which he was, wasn't he? He had sworn the oath to her mother, he had promised to take her away from this great pustule they called a city. And though his course language may irk her he had treated kindly, had never left a mark on her already battered body and she had this feeling that even with out him swearing the oath he would have looked at for her, would never have allowed his men to touch her.

 

She just wanted to feel close to someone, was that so wrong? Yes she told herself, yes for he was Jaime and he and his family and caused hers unimaginable destruction and pain. But his body felt so good beneath her hand, strong and powerful and she knew that she would feel safe with his arms wrapped around her. Sansa reached his ankle and let out a shaky breath.

 

Rolling the first pant leg up in her hand she slid it over his foot then repeated the action with his next foot. She gently started to tug the pants up his legs bit by bit and she could feel Jaime lifting his legs where he could from the ground in order to hurry the process along. She continued moving up his body straddling one of his legs, brushing unsuspecting patches of skin as she pulled and yanked the pants past his knees and Jaime let out a muffled moan. Sansa halted her progress and went still, this moan was different than the ones of pain he had let out before and she felt a pleasant ball of warmth come to settle in the lower part of her belly in reaction to it.

 

Then she heard a hoarse whisper come from Jaime, “Keep going.” He cleared his throat. “I can almost reach.”

 

Sansa continued her tugging until she felt a hand wrap around her wrist stilling her movements, Jaime’s thumb rubbing in a circular motion over the pulse point there and Sansa gave a startled jump backwards, her entire weight coming to rest down on the thigh that was now snugly nestled between her own as one of her hands moved forward trying to find some balance.

 

*

 

Jaime couldn't take his eyes off of her, he still held her wrist in his hand and her other hand had come to rest on his hip where she had placed it to steady herself after he had startled her. She was leaning forward slightly, kneeling on the skirts of her gown which in turn had caused the bodice of it to be pulled down so the tops of her breasts were now exposed to him. A pretty blush had come to her cheeks and strands of her auburn hair had come loose from their place behind her ear and fell in front of her face. He watched her nose twitch, watched her direct a breath from her mouth upwards in an attempt to blow the strands away from her face, watched the steady rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed in and out.

 

Jaime released her wrist and closed his eyes, he couldn't do this, and he didn't know how to do this, not with anyone other than Cersei. He blamed Tyrion for planting the seed in his head earlier that evening, or did he really want this with Sansa? Yes, no, maybe. Jaime opened his eyes and found that Sansa hadn’t moved a single inch, like she knew what he was thinking and was waiting for him to make his decision. Fuck, Tyrion was right. He did want Sansa, he’d wanted her ever since she had given him that bloody drawing but he had ignored what his body was telling him. But he was in love with Cersei wasn't he? He wasn't entirely sure if he was anymore, he had been so long without her.

 

Jaime cleared his throat though it did no good. “Thank you Sansa, I can do the rest.” He rasped out.

 

She lifted herself from his thigh and crawled backwards down his leg until she was no longer in contact with him. He lifted his hips from the floor and pain lanced through him; grinding his teeth together he yanked at the waist of the pants and pulled them up over the tops of his thighs until they sat high on his hips. They did absolutely nothing to hide his erection and he sent another silent thank you to the gods for Sansa having her eyes shut.

 

“Sansa you are going to need to go and retrieve someone to help me up.” She nodded at him and stood.

 

“I will just go and get Brienne.” She told him as she reached out with her hands in front of her and started to make her way towards the door.

 

“Do you know where her chamber is?”

 

“Oh she is outside your solar door.” Sansa revealed to him.

 

“What!” He barked at Sansa. “You mean to tell me that Brienne has been here the whole time and you didn’t have to do all of this, you could have just gone and gotten her?” He could see Sansa hesitating with her reply and he immediately regretted yelling at her as he watched her face go blank and he could no longer read any expression on her face.

 

“I apologize Ser. If I had known that you would have preferred her help over mine I would have retrieved her right away for you. Please forgive me.” Jaime blanched at her courtesy.

 

“Sansa…” She cut him off. “I will just go get her for you Ser Jaime.”

 

He watched her pass through the door, her movements stiff and methodical. Her detachment left his cock softening and he thought it was for the best. The last thing he wanted Brienne to see was him with an erection after spending the last half hour or so alone with Sansa in his bathing chamber. The woman would probably try and chop it off.

 

It took longer for the wench to come to him then he thought it would have, but when she finally came through the door she folded her arms over her chest and cocked an eyebrow at him, Sansa didn't follow.

 

“Ser Jaime?” She queried.

 

“Don’t ask. Where is Sansa?”

 

Brienne gave him a suspicious look before answering. “She asked me to take her back to Lord Tyrion before coming to help you.”

 

Jaime looked away from the woman, most likely assuring her of his guilt. In what, he wasn't really sure of yet.

 

Brienne moved behind and knelt down; slipping her arms beneath his shoulders and lodged them under his armpits. She counted to three before she hauled him off of the ground. Jaime cursed at her as he fell against her chest. He swore he could hear her stifle a laugh. Cringing with pain Jaime let her maneuver him until they were side by side, his arm hanging over her shoulders while hers wrapped around his waist. She dragged him to the bed while Jaime cursed her the entire time until she finally dropped him in a wreathing heap of pain on top of the bed.

 

“Gods woman, could you have been any less gentle?” He asked her sarcastically.

 

“Would you like me to get you a Maester to apply a hot rock treatment?”

 

“Please.” Jaime groaned into the bedding beneath him.

 

He heard the distinct clink of armor as Brienne left the room and his thoughts immediately turned to Sansa. He had fucked up, he knew that. He just didn't know which part of the situation was the fuck up. How could he want Sansa when he still loved Cersei, or thought he did? His back gave a spasm and he let out a huff of breath. He could try to find out what his feelings were for Sansa; try to sort through the confusing mass of maybe’s that echoed in his head. But could he really do that to Cersei, betray her in that way? He wasn't sure if he could.    

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh Jaime you egg, just get over Cersei already. She is using you!


	8. Chapter Eight

_Sixty seven, sixty eight, sixty nine, seventy._ Tyrion watched and Tyrion counted with each pull of the brush Sansa passed through her hair. He never knew females actually did this sort of thing and he sat there on the edge of the feather bed mesmerized, wondering if she was going to do the full one hundred and twenty strokes. He had noticed that the little wolf and retreated back to her den sometime during the course of yesterday and was intrigued to learn of the circumstances contributing to the chirping of courtesies she had released on him throughout the morning. And here he had thought some progress was finally being made with the girl, what had his brother done to cause such a withdrawal?

 

“Will you be going to visit your Smirks today Sansa?” He asked her as he smoothed the sleeves of his doublet, seemingly nonchalant.

 

Sansa caught his gaze in the mirror and placed her brush down. “No my lord.”

 

He held back his sigh, those courtesies he thought, were one of the banes of his existence. “Jaime has injured his back; he would probably enjoy a visit form the beautiful Lady Sansa.” Sansa averted her eyes from his to stare at a tarnished corner of the mirror.

 

“I very much doubt my lord, that Ser Jaime would appreciate my company.” She said this with a polite smile on her lips and a lifeless voice.

 

Enough, Tyrion thought. “Sansa I’m going to be very blunt. I am in no mood for your barrier of courtesies any longer. I don’t care for them, in fact I find you much more agreeable when you are just being Sansa. I know how you hide little wolf and I am wounded to find that you think you need to hide from me.” He paused and found her eyes, guilt would be key.

“Have I treated you so poorly, treated you with so little respect that I deserve this charade you put on?”

 

A blush started to creep up into Sansa’s cheeks from her neck and the shell of her ears burned as bright as her hair. She averted her gaze from his again but not to hide from him, only to hide the remorse he was sure he would see in them.

 

“I’m sorry.” She murmured finally after a brief silence.

 

“I don’t want your apologies Sansa; there is nothing for you to apologize for. I just want your honesty, the same courtesy I have shown you.”

 

Sansa turned on her stool to face her husband with a shy smile, “I can do that.”

 

He saw how her bottom lip gave a small tremble, how her stare was slightly watery, heard the quiver in her voice and prayed that his brother would come to his senses soon for Sansa may not believe in her songs anymore, but he knew deep down in the shadowed recesses of her soul she still craved to be saved.

 

“Now tell me Sansa, what happened for you to feel like you needed to hide? And remember my dear, honesty.” Tyrion watched her hesitate, maybe playing the words over in her head before speaking them.

 

“I made an assumption and it was wrong, I… over stepped my mark and someone took offence to it.”

 

Tyrion gave her a reassuring smile before continuing. “And this person that took offence, you would rather they not feel disinclined towards you?” Sansa looked down at the hem of her skirts and nodded her head.

 

“Oh Sansa. You see, with Jaime…” Sansa’s head shot up and she cut him off. “I never said it was Ser Jaime.” Tyrion gave her a sly smile and tapped at his deformed nose knowingly.

 

“Please Sansa; you have been interacting with only three people for the past week and I highly doubt that an altercation with Brienne would send you scampering back to your den to hide.”

 

Sansa looked away guiltily. “Tyrion I…”

 

“Listen to me Sansa because I won’t be taking the time to reassure you again. We were **forced** to marry, we are **not** in love with each other and I really **don’t** mind that you have a growing fondness for my brother. In fact I support any blossoming relationship you may have with him.” She looked at him, her eyes boring into his miss-matched ones with confusion pulling her face into a frown.

 

“I don’t understand.” She whispered.

 

“I hold great fondness for you Sansa, but it will never be love just as the same as you will never love me. And this sham of a marriage **will** be put aside sometime in the future. It would be nice for you to have someone there waiting for you to give you your wings back then to be left floundering in the wind on your own.”

 

Sansa raised her head high, back straightened. “I will have my family.” She stated firmly, a very rare glimpse of the boldness Tyrion knew Sansa kept under lock and key.

 

“I do hope you would, but this is war time and we can never predict the outcome of it, nor the path for the people in it.”

 

Tyrion slipped off of the bed and walked to Sansa, taking one of her soft delicate hands in both of his own stubby ones. He looked up at her wanting to convince her with his eyes as well as his words.

 

“You and Jaime are very similar Sansa. You both held your songs close once, only for them to be taken from you by people you believed loved you.”

 

Sansa pulled her hand from Tyrion and her fingers fluttered up to the dragonfly pendant she wore around her neck where she twisted the chain between her slender fingers. Tyrion turned from her and took the walk to the door slowly but hesitated. He paused in his steps, one more thing he thought, just one more thing to help encourage her.

 

“My brother has always been blinded by our sister, but since his return he is slowly starting to see the light of day. Cersei will send him to an inglorious death Sansa and I do not want that for him. He needs someone to save him from that just as much as you need someone to save you from your golden cage.”

 

Sansa meet his eyes and he saw something in them, maybe hope. She gave him a small nod of her head before Tyrion turned around and made his way to the door again. A grin spread his lips wide; he had a feeling that Sansa would be going to visit her Ser-Smirks-A lot today after all.

 

*

 

Sansa stood at the closed door leading to Jaime’s bedchamber, a book clutched tightly in one of her hands and held close to her breast. She had been working up the courage to knock for the past few minutes and she still couldn't find any to grasp at yet. Tyrion’s words to her that morning had struck a cord; he had made it sound like Jaime was just as trapped here as she was and it had stirred something inside Sansa that she didn't quite want to examine yet. The thought of her family played heavily on her mind.

 

If she knowingly and willingly pursued what ever this was between herself and Jaime how would she explain that to her family? It was one thing to be forced into a marriage with a Lannister but a different thing entirely to seek out some sort of companionship with one. Was this relationship to be another betrayal she made to her family? Or would they understand that she sought comfort and protection from a man that in any other situation she most likely never would have. Could they forgive her? Or an even better question, could she forgive herself for this or would it always be a belt of guilt that was strapped tight and chaffed around her heart? She would never know until she delved into this a little deeper.

 

Sansa thought of Robb and his impromptu marriage to the Westerling girl and she felt a little relief in knowing that she wouldn't be the only one of her siblings that put what she wanted before what was best. But she had already done that before hadn’t she, when she had revealed to Cersei her fathers plans to depart Kings Landing. She felt warm tears come to sting at her eyes at the thought of her father and her own naivety and Sansa did her best to blink them back. She would not be naive this time she concluded. She would let Jaime in but he would pay a very high price for it indeed, one that she could only hope he’d be willing to pay.

 

Sansa tucked the book under her arm and ran her hands down the bodice of her gown nervously, she could do this. Of course she could, this is what she wanted and Sansa could see that now, she wanted Jaime. She wanted his improper comments and the arrogant smiles that graced his lips. She wanted to trail her hand down him again and feel the strength of his body and know that all of it was there to keep her safe. She wanted to feel cared for again and no longer alone. She wanted to be able to choose who she gave herself to **.** Pulling in and letting out a deep breath, Sansa brought her hand up and lightly rapped her knuckles on the door.

 

*

 

Jaime was surprised to see that it was Sansa that walked through his door, and if he was to be honest with himself maybe even a little relieved. He didn’t greet her; he didn't really know what to say to her so he simply stared at her with a small smug smile propping up the corners of his lips like he had expected her to come to him at some point during the day. She stared back at him, slim fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the leather bound book she held and her eyes blown wide. His smile widened, and he watched as Sansa’s own smile appeared and very slowly extended her lips upwards.

 

Jaime inclined his head towards her. “Lady Sansa.” She took a few steps closer to his bed and gave him a small curtsy. “Ser Jaime, I have come to inquire after your health.”

 

Jaime laughed, she was toying with him. He could tell by the softness of her eyes and the genuine perkiness in her voice. Using her manners but not in the cold detached way that she used as her shield but in a playful way that showed him that last night had been forgotten and that today was to be started anew with no lingering resentment on either side. No grudges being held wasn't exactly something he was used to, for Cersei adored to hold a grudge, but he could already tell it was something he could very well become accustomed to, rapidly.

 

“I thank you for your concern my lady, I shall endeavor to be up and about within a day or two.”

 

Sansa took another two steps forward then gave an uncertain pause in her movements, she meet his eyes and gave him a timid smile. Jaime shuffled across the bed a bit and tried not to wince at the sharp shooting pain that ran from his neck down to his lower back then patted the space he had left with his golden hand, inviting Sansa to sit down.

 

She bit down on her bottom lip in thought then having made her mind up glided her way over to the edge of the bed and sat down so lightly upon it that Jaime didn't even feel the feather mattress dip with her weight. She reached with her arm and scratched at the head of the small ball of fluff asleep in Jaime’s lap.

 

“I’m glad to hear that it will not be long before you are well.” Sansa offered Jaime another shy smile and oddly enough he found it more than endearing.

 

“I should hope since you are the cause for my current state.”

 

Sansa pursed her lips together trying to hide her smile. “I have no idea what you are trying to imply Ser.”

 

Jaime rolled his eyes at her. “What is that you are holding?” He asked her, glancing down at the book.

 

“I thought you may be bored, so I brought a book so I could read to you.” Still the little lady Jaime thought.

 

“You may, but only if it’s a romance story.” He mocked.

 

“Of course.” Sansa replied then opened the cover to the first page and started to read it to him.

 

To Jaime’s dismay it was actually a tale of romance and all he wanted to do as Sansa read the drivel out loud to him was to bury his head under the bed-cover and drown out the nonsense that was contained in the book. But he did find the constant sound of Sansa’s voice somewhat of a comfort, in fact he found the whole situation of being read to while he sat in bed somewhat of a comfort. Maybe it was due to the fact that one of the only lingering memories he had of his mother was of her reading to him at night while he lay safe in his bed.

 

He tuned out the words Sansa spoke and let the soothing sound of her voice run over him until he felt himself relax against the pillows propped up behind him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes and let his mind drift.

 

Tyrion had been by his chambers early that morning; he had given Jaime three very specific names and word of betrayal that Jaime had never thought possible. If it wasn't for his injury he probably would have gone and confronted his sister but now saw it as a blessing. He liked his head on his shoulders where it belonged and didn't want it chopped off due to him strangling the life from the Queen Regent. It didn't take him long to realize that the revelation didn't wound him as much as he thought it would of. He made that observation to Tyrion and his brother then gave him one more very specific name “Sansa.”

 

Jaime opened his eyes and let them travel over the striking woman that sat beside him and he knew why his brother had given him her name. How is he supposed to know if she reciprocates his feelings of… fondness for her? How does he even broach the subject with her? He didn't know how to do this, didn't know how to court a woman properly. He laughed silently at his last thought, for what was proper about courting the woman your brother is married to, even with his blessings. But Tyrion had assured him that if he made the effort, if Jaime wanted her, Sansa would be his.

 

He forced a swallow down his throat and caught Sansa’s attention by placing his golden hand on her forearm. She stopped reading and her pretty big blue eyes slid from the pages of her book and stared straight into his. He shouldn't be doing this, Bran Stark, if Sansa ever found out she would hate him.

 

“I’m not perfect Sansa, I’m broken. But I am trying to fix what’s left of me.” She gave him one of her small smiles.

 

“You’re not broken Jaime, just a little bent. We’re all a little bent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I absolutely adore this chapter! Finally things are starting to come together and I'm in love with some of things being said from one character to another. This chapter originally started out with a discussion between Tyrion and Jaime and it just wasn't working. But then LadyLannister left a comment and mentioned in it Tyrion giving Sansa some insight on Jaime so I changed the beginning discussion to Tyrion/Sansa and it all just fell into place. So thank you to the LadyLannister, this is why I love people commenting and giving me their opinions. Hope you enjoyed the chapter =)


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer since I haven't posted in a couple of days, hope you're all enjoying it so far. Oh yeah just wondering, who thinks Jaime would confess to Sansa about pushing Bran if their in a relationship? =)

It had taken Jaime four days to resume his duties in the Kings Guard, four days spent in his room with Sansa Stark flouncing around him like a damn bloody nagging Septa telling him what he should and shouldn't be doing while he was injured. Not that he resented the flouncing and nagging in any way, it had felt good to be taken care of by a female that wasn't paid help. And she was different, more open with her thoughts and emotions, her smiles wider and her eyes brighter. She had started dressing in gowns of silvers, blues and white silks and more often than not she would leave her hair to tumble down her back in tamed spirals rather than having it gathered up on her head in the same intricate style as his sister.

 

He liked her this way, liked her as herself rather than an imitation of a woman that he would rather not think about when he was with Sansa. On the third day that she had come to his quarters she had laughed, not one of those forced laughs he would hear from her on the nights he had spent in with her and Tyrion but a genuine laugh that had made her nose crinkle, eyes water and her cheeks burn red. That stupid damn kitten with that stupid damn name that he refused to even speak aloud had swatted him on the nose then bit his bottom lip which had Sansa bending over at the waist laughing at how the Kingslayer and been roughed up by a baby cat. Jaime sat there staring stupidly at his abuser held in his outstretched arm and Sansa had come to sit beside him and petted the bloody thing while she cooed and giggled in its ear about how much of a good boy it was.

 

There were two things that had stuck with him from that encounter; Sansa had called him Kingslayer, but with no hint of the malice and disdain in her voice that generally accompanied the name when being spoken. Instead it had rolled off of her tongue as more of a term of endearment and he had surprised himself by not feeling any hatred for the name as he usually would have. Sansa had been rather quiet after that, her head cocked to the side and chewing on her bottom lip as she often did when deep in thought. She then apologized for calling him Kingslayer with a hushed voice and the corners of her lips turned down as she brushed a short errant curl from his forehead and pushed it back into place, her short nails scratching lightly against his scalp before she pulled her hand away from the first deliberate intimate touch she had given him.

 

She had touched him in many small innocent ways since then, her thigh pressing against his as they sat side by side, her hand smoothing out a crease at the chest of his tunic, her fingertips brushing along his as she handed him a goblet of wine. He could recall them all with a minimal amount of effort and every single one of her shy sweet innocent touches made every single one of Cersei’s cold and cruel words since his return seem all the more harsher. He sneered at the thought of his sister, he sneered at the sight of his sister as she sat before him at a small table laid out with fruits, cheeses, cold meats and breads. First day back in uniform and his sister had pilfered him for her own needs, requesting, no demanding, that he be her guard for the day and she had gifted him with her stony silence since she had opened the doors to her chambers and walked straight past him without even looking in his direction.

 

Jaime had to admit that he was no where near as good at ignoring his twin as she was him and as the day progressed he found her cold shoulder starting to grate on his nerves. He had not bothered to bring up the subject of her whoring, he could cope without the headache and he didn't want to hear the words that would slip sweetly from her mouth trying to convince him that what Tyrion had told him were all lies, lies that their younger brother had told Jaime to try and come between himself and Cersei. Oh Jaime knew the things that she would tell him, she was his and he was hers, they were born for one another and they would only ever truly love each other. In truth he wasn't convinced yet of his own strength to be able to hear those words and not have them send his heartbeat racing and his arms wrapping around her to pull her close. Jaime studied his sisters’ profile and clenched his teeth at what he saw, still beautiful he thought grudgingly. Cersei turned towards him sensing Jaime’s gaze had fallen on her and she gave him a sweet smile.

 

Jaime didn't take his eyes from hers but stared impassively at her, she would see no emotion from him. “Are you going to eat sister? Or simply let the food turn?” He asked.

 

“I’m waiting for my guest to join me. Tell me Jaime, how is the dear Sansa? I hear that she had been to your quarter’s everyday while you were injured.” Cersei brought her wine to her lips and took a small sip, keeping her eyes trained on her brother over the rim of the goblet.

 

“She is the same as she always is.” Jaime hated his reply as soon as he spoke it and he gritted his teeth as the corners of Cersei’s lips quirked up, knowing that she was going to have him at a disadvantage with this topic.

 

“Oh you misinterpret my question brother, what I meant was how is she in your bed? As fulfilling as you’re used to? Or have you found her lacking a certain something?”

 

Jaime grinned at her, maybe not at a disadvantage after all. “Well, since I have found my bed empty for over a year I find her perfectly satisfactory, in fact I find her more than satisfactory but I thank you for your concern sister.”

 

Cersei’s smile faded and gave way to a frown while Jaime’s grin widened as she turned away from him to stare out the archways that gave a view to the Blackwater. It was all horse shit, he knew that, but if his sister didn't know and she wanted to think he was taking Sansa to his bed rather than her then he was more than happy to confirm it for his twin.

 

“You will tire of her soon and then you will come crawling back to me. Whether or not I will take you back, well, we will just have to wait and see.” Jaime let out a brief chuckle at her assurances that he would be returning to her arms.

 

“The funny thing about losing a hand sister is that it makes it rather difficult to crawl.”

 

*

 

Sansa let out a calming breath as she made her way down the corridor leading to the small courtyard where she was to have her mid day meal with Cersei. Sansa didn't even understand why the Queen had invited her, she had a clear distaste for Sansa that you would have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to pick up on and the last thing Sansa wanted to do was dine with her in an intimate setting, but it wasn't exactly like she could decline now could she. The sound of Ser Osmund’s amour clanking behind her played on Sansa’s anxiety and she balled her hands into fists at her sides to stop the slight tremor running through them as the passive shield of her upbringing washed over her. Stretching out her fingers before she stepped outside Sansa gave the knight one last glance as he passed by her and came to stand guard beside the entrance to the courtyard, he glared down at her and gave a small push to the small of her back sending her to clumsily stumble through the archway.

 

Cersei eyed Sansa up and down, her jaw slightly clenching as she took in the subdued colors of the girls’ gown and the way she had chosen to style her hair, the corner of her lip twitched threatening to curl up into a sneer. It was a rare show of defiance on Sansa’s part and Cersei wondered which one of her brothers had sparked it in the little wolf and whether or not they had done it to spite her. She had a sickening feeling that it was Jaime, she laughed bitterly to herself, she knew it was Jaime and if he was doing it to get at her she knew it wouldn't be long before he had the girl parading around the Red Keep in her maidens cloak with the snarling dire wolf stitched on the back.

 

Sansa gave Cersei a weak smile and bent her knees into a courtesy. The sight of Jaime standing behind his sister leaning against a wall with his golden hand resting on the hilt of the long sword sheathed at his right hip made her heart skip a few beats and she knew that Cersei wouldn't fail to notice the look of uncertainty that passed briefly over her face. She didn't understand why he was here; he never stood guard for his sister. And then it all dawned on her quite clearly, Cersei had planned for this, she knew that she had been spending time with her brother, of course she knew. Sansa had no idea of Jaime’s actual feelings for her, whether it was a passing attraction he felt for her or something deeper but it didn't stop Sansa from briefly speculating, if the rumors were true about the brother and sister, whether Cersei could be jealous of Jaime’s attentions towards her.

 

Something that Sansa had felt building inside her over the last week reached out and embraced her, she felt it curl itself around every inch of her body and a flame of boldness came to spark deep down within the depths of her. It was all against her better judgment, she could hear the echo of a warning somewhere in the back of her mind but she still looked past Cersei’s shoulder and made eye contact with Jaime. He looked back at her curiously waiting to see what she would or wouldn't do and was surprised by the bright smile that appeared on her lips, a genuine smile unlike the meek excuse for one she had given his sister. He wished he could see the look on Cersei's face at this gesture; see the nerve that twitched at her eye marking her irritation, even without being able to see any of that he still felt pretty fucking smug as he pushed himself off of the wall and took long languorous strides towards Sansa to stand before her.

 

He didn't offer one single glance in Cersei’s direction as he took Sansa’s right hand in his left and bent over at the waist to brush his lips over her knuckles. Jaime looked up at Sansa from his lowered position to see her cheeks blushing charmingly and grinned at her, showing a row of perfectly straight, white teeth.

 

“Lady Sansa.” He greeted, his voice coming out a lot huskier than he had intended, making Sansa’s smile take on a more intimate curve of her lips.

 

“Ser Jaime.”

 

Cersei cleared her throat and Jaime straightened himself, letting go of Sansa’s hand for it to fall gently back to her side he returned back to his wall and took up his leaning stance again, smirking over his sister’s shoulder at the little wolf and her display of what she would surely be telling herself soon was scandalous and improper behavior.

 

“Well little dove, I’m so glad to see that you are fitting into the family so agreeably.” Cersei directed at Sansa with a sweet smile plastered on her face.

 

Sansa glanced up and briefly looked into Cersei’s eyes, she had learnt long ago to never trust the sugary smiles the Queen plied on everyone. She may have been able to train her face to lie, but she had never taught her eyes to lie the way Sansa had and what she saw in them was unbridled anger and hatred. Sansa felt a sense of satisfaction well up inside of her, oh that exchange between herself and Jaime had definitely affected the woman and she had to tame the self satisfied smile that wanted to burst forth from her into the same sweet one Cersei had given her. Gods what has come over her?

 

“Your family is such a pleasure and so welcoming it would be hard not to find a place in it your grace.” Jaime snorted from behind Cersei at the obvious lies coming from Sansa’s lips.

 

Both the woman ignored him and took dainty sips from their goblets. Cersei gestured to Sansa at the food laid out on the table then continued to sip at her wine silently as Sansa placed a bunch of grapes on her plate as well as a few strawberries. It wasn't long before Cersei needed to refill her goblet and Sansa had to wonder why she had been invited if the Queen was just going to sit and ignore her presence. Surely she must have had some reason for inviting Sansa to dine with her but with the rate Cersei was devouring the wine she could guess that the older woman was working up to something.

 

So Sansa continued to sit on quietly as she slipped grapes between her lips and tried to keep her eyes off of the man that was clearly staring at her from where he stood, which she was finding rather difficult as the glint off his armor from the sun was continuously catching her eye and they inadvertently slid to him once or twice and she was rewarded with a wink from him each time. She felt herself blush, this was an awfully uncomfortable situation and now that she only had three remaining grapes left on her plate she wasn't sure what to do with herself once she had finished them.

Sansa looked across the table at Cersei and found her watching her with a queer expression on her face that Sansa couldn't quite work out.

 

“Did you know little dove, that there is a cause for celebration today?” Cersei asked her.

 

Sansa shook her head. “No my grace, I didn't.”

 

“Your Uncle, Edmure Tully, is to be wed to one of Lord Frey’s daughters today. Is that not wonderful news sweetling?” Sansa smiled politely back at her. “Of course it is your grace.”

 

Cersei stared at the girl opposite her and was positive that she couldn't stand to spend much longer in her dim witted company. Not only that but she felt the need to deliver a stinging slap to her brothers face after the little display he had put on, how dare he have the audacity to pull that in front of her? If he thought that giving this girl his attention was going to make her come begging for his touch then he could think again, she absolutely refused to plead with him for anything when he should be giving it willingly. She could feel herself becoming more enraged the longer she spent in their presence and brought her goblet to her lips to drain the contents from it before she stood.

 

“I have something for you little dove before I retire to my quarters, a gift.” Cersei lifted a small leather pouch from the table and held her hand out for Sansa to take it.

 

Cersei observed how the girl looked at it curiously, maybe even suspiciously before taking it from her. Cersei stepped away from the table and walked around it to come and stand at Sansa’s side giving her brother a clear view of the gift that Sansa was currently pulling from the pouch.

 

“It occurred to me that I had never given you a wedding gift sweetling, I hope this remedies that. I haven’t worn this in so long.” Cersei kept her eyes trained on Jaime as she spoke wanting to see the expression on his face when Sansa finally released her gift and had it dangling from her fingers and she almost felt the urge to stomp her foot in frustration as she watched her twins eyes take all of it in with nothing but an impassive glance.

 

Sansa held the delicate gold chain in front of her face and the sun made the singular tiny sapphire that hung from it sparkle; it was pretty she thought, sweet even and definitely nothing like the larger pieces of jewelry that Cersei preferred to wear now.

 

Sansa looked up at Cersei whom was staring at her expectantly. “I thank you my grace, it is beautiful.” Cersei raised her hand and brushed the back of her fingertips down the side of her face with a smile on her lips that Sansa could almost describe as sad.

 

“Here, let me put it on for you.” Sansa handed the necklace to Cersei and she moved behind her.

 

“Jaime, come hold Sansa’s hair while I put this on.” Sansa saw the slightest crinkle of a frown between Jaime’s brows before he stepped forward and walked towards the two women. Sansa watched him until he came to stand behind her with Cersei and she felt him gather her hair with his one hand and sweep it over her shoulder as Cersei brought the necklace over her head and let it rest high on her chest while she fastened the clasp at the back. Cersei stepped forward while Jaime remained and a small tremor ran through Sansa’s body as one of his rough fingers ran down the back of her neck while his sisters’ back was to them before taking a step away from her.

 

“That was given to me by the only man that has ever truly been in love with me.” Cersei stated and her eyes darted between the girl and then her twin that continued to stand behind her in an almost protective manner. A spear of anger sliced through her at the realization at how much of an attractive pair they made, Sansa was exactly the type of girl that Cersei’s father would have wanted to marry Jaime too. It hadn’t occurred to her before but if Jaime had arrived earlier than he had it well could have been him married to the Stark girl rather than Tyrion. Her father would have liked nothing more than to see Jaime released from the Kings Guard and settled at Casterly Rock with a wife, especially a wife that would have delivered them the North.

 

“It suits you well.” Sansa didn't miss how grudgingly Cersei spoke those words before she called for Ser Osmund. The knight stepped out into the courtyard and Cersei gave Sansa and Jaime nothing more than a nod of her head before she departed with her guard. As soon as their footsteps had receded Jaime’s hand immediately flew to the clasp of the necklace around Sansa’s neck and became increasingly frustrated with his inability to undo it with only one hand.

 

“Get it off.” He commanded Sansa. She turned to him frowning not only at his tone of voice but at what he had asked her to do. “What. Why?”

 

“Because my sister has the cunt of a whore and I’m not having one of her trinkets taint you, now get it off.” Jaime practically growled the words at her and without even scowling at his course use of language Sansa hurriedly brought her hands around to the back of her neck and undid the clasp of the necklace. She placed it into Jaime’s waiting hand and watched as he took long strides away from her to the edge of the courtyard and threw it into the surrounding trees and shrubbery and she knew, knew that the necklace had been giving to Cersei by Jaime. Why else would he act in such a manner?

 

“You gave that to her didn't you?” Sansa wanted to shove the words back into her mouth and pretend that she had never spoken them but it was too late, Jaime had already turned to stare at her, a cruel smirk curling at his lips.

 

“And how is that any concern of yours little wolf?” He asked her coldly.

 

Sansa couldn't help but blanch with how he spoke to her but quickly hid it behind a mask of indifference. “None at all Ser, may I take my leave?”

 

Jaime came and slumped down in the chair opposite her and poured himself some wine, taking large gulps from the goblet before he looked at Sansa and let his eyes bore into hers.

 

“Don’t start that bloody courtesy shit with me, not again.” He paused to drain what was left in his goblet. “I meant what I said, I don’t want anything of hers touching you. You are pure and she is very far from it. I really don’t care if it was a necklace given to her by Ser Arthur Dayne himself. If it has graced her neck then you never should have the misfortune of wearing it.”

 

Sansa eyed Jaime, she still hadn’t lost the daring spark that had caused her to act so familiar with him in front of Cersei and now she was silently debating with herself whether or not to turn away from her earlier question or to hammer away at him with it until she got her answer. She wanted to know; she needed to know what she was up against when it came to him, needed to know whether or not she could trust him to stand with her or if he would hand her over to his sister if she demanded it. The one thing she had learnt about Jaime other than the obvious was that he could be quick to deflect any question he didn't want to answer but if you kept pestering him with it he would eventually relent and answer truthfully, that is of course if you held his trust, and Sansa wasn't entirely sure if she did.

 

“That doesn't answer my question.” Sansa murmured down at the table, not sure if she held the courage to meet his eyes.

 

Jaime let out a sigh. “And if I say yes are you going to look at me with disgust in your eyes and disdain on your face? Will you go back to your chambers and scrub your hands and the back of your neck clean of my touch?” Sansa looked up at him and she could see that he regretted everything that he had just said.

 

Did she really care? Maybe if she had never come to Kings Landing and she’d found out she would have been disgusted, actually there was no maybe about it, she would have looked upon Jaime with scorn and felt sick to her stomach. But she had seen too much, been subjected to too much and if she were to be honest with herself if she had to choose between going to bed with Joffrey or Robb she would most likely choose her brother over that monster any day, not that Jaime’s relationship with his sister was in any way something that was a last resort. He could have had any woman in the seven kingdoms yet he had chosen his sister, there must be some complex reasoning behind it for brothers and sisters don’t just fall in love with each other. She wasn’t really sure if she even wanted to know the reason behind it, the only thing she needed to know was that it was no longer an ongoing affair.

 

“I really don’t care what your relationship has been with your sister in the past, but I do care about what your relationship with her is now.” Jaime cocked his eyebrows in surprise at her words. That was not what he had expected, hatred maybe but definitely not the indifference she had just shown to his past. Sansa Stark was definitely not living in her songs anymore.

 

“I have to admit Sansa; I’m surprised with your words. I was not expecting them.” Jaime cleared his throat, he was almost feeling some sort of relief that she knew, but then who in the seven kingdoms didn't suspect, Stannis Baratheon had certainly made sure of that.

 

“Our relationship is now of a brother and sister, nothing more.” Sansa simply nodded her head as she brought a chunk of bread to her mouth and startled to nibble on it. He knew that it wasn't the complete truth; he wasn't going to admit to her his weakness when it came to his sister or the fact that he still harbored feelings for her stronger than you would in a normal sibling relationship. You couldn't just void being in love with someone when ever you wished, it would take him time. But he was no longer intimate with her and he was very adamant that he never would be again.

 

He didn't want a woman that would give themselves so freely to others, he wanted a woman that would be faithful to him, be his and only his and although Sansa was married to his brother he knew there would never be anything between the two other than a cordial relationship. Sansa could be his, he could tell that she had come to care for him in the brief time they had spent together. She could come to love him and he was hoping that he could come to love her in time, maybe not as strong as the love he had felt for Cersei but it would be love none the less and he certainly didn't need to worry about getting his cock hard for her, he had already proven that he found the woman incredibly attractive.

 

Then he felt like a worthless bastard, hoping he could come to love her in time? Sansa deserved better than that, didn't she? She deserved an absolute devotion not a maybe, could he do that? He had already fully committed himself to being her protector; it was the only thing he had left to prove he was of any worth, she was the only thing left to prove he had any worth. Sansa Stark was going to be his deliverance from past mistakes; he laughed silently, how he could not fall in love with a woman that was going to ultimately save him by letting him keep her from harm was an idiotic question. You don’t spend day in and day out with someone not to come to care for them, after all that is how he came to respect the Maid of Tarth, why he went back to get her after he had already left Harrenhal. Yes he would love Sansa Stark, whether she wanted him to or not.

 

Jaime stood and Sansa watched him as he made his way around the table and offered her his hand. She took it and he gave her a gentle tug, asking her silently to stand. She was tall, taller than Cersei; he wouldn't even have to stoop over. Releasing Sansa’s hand he brought his own up and grasped her chin tilting her face ever so slightly up and she stared at him so intently that he felt a nervous quiver run through his hand as he let it slid down the soft pale skin of her neck until his fingers came to curl around the base of it, his thumb brushing over her collarbone. He tilted his head to Sansa’s and lightly brushed his lips over hers, they were soft like a rose petal, and he held his breath waiting for her to either pull away or push him away. The seconds past but she stayed still, he let his breath out as discreetly as possible even though she would have felt it ghost over her skin then descended on her again brushing lips over lips, gently sucking her bottom one between his as he brought teeth down to lightly graze over the plump flesh. Jaime heard her take in a shaky breath and he wrapped his left arm around her waist and pulled her to him as he smiled at the feel of her hands coming to rest on his chest while his tongue traced the curve of her lower lip. Her lips parted beneath him and he flicked his tongue up to glide over the inside of her top lip and then he felt it, the shy brush of the tip of her tongue against his. He smiled again against her lips. Yes, he would love Sansa Stark.               


	10. Chapter Ten

Breathing in the cool air was difficult, it made her mouth and throat dry, it stung at her lungs and it made her eyes water. When she exhaled her breath would release in small puffs and Sansa smiled, it was home. Her body was relaxed and swayed from side to side with every step forward her mare made. Jon had told her that they may not be able to find Arya but she held onto her hope as her brother led her horse slowly through the Wolfswood. She knew Jon didn't want to disappoint her, more than once she had caught his eyes when he’d look up at her and she’d seen the frown that furrowed his brows together and made the corners of his lips droop down. Sansa tried to reassure him with small squeezes to his shoulder and kind words in his ears but it didn't seem to help. Maybe if she were Arya he wouldn't be so afraid to fail and she felt a twinge of guilt that Jon was stuck with her and not the younger sister he’d been close with. 

“I’m sorry that it’s me and not Arya.” Sansa murmured to him. Jon looked up at her, questioning stormy eyes searching her own through the clouds of warm breath filling the space between them.

Jon shook his head at his sister. “Don’t be stupid Sansa.” It almost sounded like a reprimand from her father and Sansa’s heart ached for the rest of her family, but at least she had Jon.

“But it’s true, I was so selfish and now she is lost to us. I have no idea where she is or if she is even alive. Everything, all of this is my fault. Father, Mother, Robb, Bran, Rickon. They are all gone; every single one of them and it’s entirely my fault. I told Cersei of father’s plan. All I thought about was myself and what I wanted.” Sansa silently cursed herself as the warm tears streaked down her face and her throat became tight as she tried to hold them back. She didn't want to show her weakness in front of anyone let alone Jon, she wanted to show him that she was strong, that he could rely on her.

“And now there might be only you and I left and there are leagues between us.”

Jon smiled at her and Sansa felt her chilled insides start to warm at the sight of it. “You were a child Sansa, thrust into playing an adult game. I will never blame you; it is not your burden to carry. Now I don’t want to hear any more of it or I’ll make you walk and I will ride.” Sansa let out a choked laugh and nodded her agreement at his hollow threat.

“Are you lonely Sansa?” Jon asked her shortly after. Sansa looked away from him and gazed through the haze at the forest around her. Was she lonely? She used to be so lonely that it had made her soul ache with a constant deep throb. Sansa didn't feel that anymore, she hadn’t taken notice that the pain inside her had ebbed significantly until she was confronted with Jon’s question.

“I used to be, so much so that it almost physically hurt. But I guess that has changed recently.” Jon’s eyebrows quirked up questioningly at her response and Sansa let out a nervous quivering breath. “He is not someone expected.”

“Do you trust him?” 

Sansa rubbed at the itch on her face the dried tears had left behind. It was such a simple question when asked but there would be no simple answer, not when it came to talking about him. “I want to, more than anything. It would be nice to have someone I can put my trust in again.” 

Jon moved his gaze away from hers as he lowered his hand and buried it in the dire wolfs fur that had been silently walking beside his master. “Why are you here with me then, and not with him?”

Sansa opened her mouth but her voice caught in her throat and all that came out was a weak strangled sob. She cleared her throat and answered in such a tiny voice she wasn't even sure Jon would be able to hear her. “Because, he wasn't there.”

*

“Well, this time spent together really has been enlightening sister but I really must be going.” Jaime pushed his chair away from the table and stood, he watched the panicked expression that briefly crossed over Cersei’s face and he paused. He and his sister were the only two remaining after the small council meeting had came to an end and she had insisted on making small talk for the last half an hour, tip-toeing around the edges of what she really wanted to say to him. But what he saw on her face, she looked well and truly lost. It had been so long since he had seen his sister show any weakness, not since they were very young children, and he couldn't help but sit back down in his seat

“Are you well Cersei?” She glanced up at his question but her eyes quickly fled his and she spoke to him while she looked intently at the wall across from her.

“I must admit that I have been furious with you.” Cersei paused and gave a short bark of bitter laughter. “So much so that I told myself that I would not plead for your affection and would wait for you to come to your senses. Yet I’m afraid that pleading for your affection will be exactly what I’m about to do.” She shook her head almost as if she couldn't believe she was telling him this then finally met his eyes imploringly.

“The only time I feel whole is when you’re inside me Jaime, I no longer want to feel like an incomplete person.” She spoke as if it was a confession and Jaime felt his hand twitch with the need to touch her, to run his fingers along her skin like he had done thousands of times before but he kept the palm of his hand pressed firmly to the surface of the table.

“Why did you give Sansa that necklace?” Jaime asked her and Cersei lowered her eyes to look at her hands clasped together in her lap, to hide the guilt that would show in them Jaime thought.

“I regret it now, it was a rash decision. I wanted to get a reaction from you, something that showed whether or not you still loved me. But you didn't give anything away did you, and now I've parted with the only gift that ever meant anything to me.”

Served her right, Jaime thought. He had given that to her the morning after the first night they had fully given themselves to each other and she had used it in one of her games and now it was lost to her forever. He was furious that she had just given it away like that, furious to see it around another woman’s neck and furious to see anything of Cersei’s on someone as innocent and pure as Sansa Stark, a woman that he wanted kept completely separate from his sister in his mind.

“Well you won’t be getting the bloody thing back, I got rid of it.” Cersei gave a small nod of acceptance at that and she hesitantly brought her eyes back to his again.

“We have fought before Jaime, why is it so different this time? Am I that easily replaced? Is that why you've had no trouble finding comfort between her legs?” 

Jaime laughed at his sister, it rose up from the depths of his belly and bellowed out from his mouth and it didn't take long for the frown to appear on Cersei’s face. “Did you think that I wouldn't find out?” He asked her. “If I fucked you, would I find you as tight as a woman that hadn’t had a cock in her for over a year should be? Would you display any signs of discomfort if I thrust into you in our usual manner? Or would I be sorely disappointed?”

“Ah, so this is how our brother has exacted his revenge against me then? How so very like you to believe what ever tale he spins for you Jaime.” Cersei rose from her seat and narrowed her eyes at her brother. “I’m not going to sit her and be accused of being unfaithful to you when you know you’re the only man I have ever loved.” Jaime watched her eyes water and Cersei did a few rapid blinks before she continued on quietly. “Forgive me; I hadn’t realized that you’d come to think of me so poorly, think of us so poorly for you to easily believe such things.” 

Jaime didn't respond just slumped back in his chair and watched her glide out of the room as her shoulders gave a slight tremble when her back was turned to him. Well, fuck. If his siblings weren't so bent on destroying the other it would make things a lot easier for him. He had to admit that what Cersei had just said to him was plausible; Tyrion was infuriated with her for having him removed from his position as Hand of the King. He had basically pushed Sansa at him from the start and had successfully made himself constantly scarce leaving her and Jaime alone. Fuck.

Jaime pinched the bridge of his nose then ran his hand through his hair as he let out a heavy sigh. He wanted to believe his brother but he also wanted to believe Cersei. This is exactly why he hadn’t wanted to say anything to his twin, he knew how much doubt it would cause in him and he had stupidly brought it up. Cersei had seemed so sincere, genuinely hurt by what he was accusing her of but he had wanted to believe Tyrion so badly, wanted to have another reason to think ugly of his sister after the way she had been treating him but now he was feeling the self doubt settle inside him. Would Tyrion really tell him such a hideous lie and risk hurting him all to gain revenge on their sister? 

Jaime covered his face with his left hand; he just didn't know anymore, they had both become immensely more power hungry over the last year. He laughed into his palm, the only person he could trust not to have any ulterior motives with him was bloody Sansa and that was most likely only because she was too exhausted to even bother playing with him. Did it even matter if Tyrion was lying to him? Hadn't he only just decided yesterday that he no longer wanted Cersei and had set out to win Sansa’s heart? He had kissed her, she had kissed him back and despite her obvious inexperience he had enjoyed it. Maybe it only mattered that Tyrion had lied to him because he didn't want his brother deceiving him in any matter not so much that Cersei being unfaithful may not have been the truth.

“Uh, Ser Jaime?” Jaime pulled his hand away from his face and glared at the boy the small squeak of speech had come from.

‘What do you want Podrick?” 

“Lord Tyrion sent me, told me to tell you that something is wrong with Lady Sansa.” Podrick hovered in the doorway, bouncing from foot to foot anxiously.

“What do you mean something is wrong with her?” Jaime asked as he stood and started to follow Podrick from the room and down the corridor.

“Don’t know Ser, she just sits there not moving and not talking like she’s gone blind, death and dumb.” Jaime could hear the worried tone in Podrick’s voice and lengthened his stride in response to it, everything clogging up his mind minutes ago pushed to the side and only one thing replaced it, Sansa.

*

Sansa and Jon sat under a large willow tree while her horse grazed along the bank of a stream not far from them. Her bottom and thighs had started to ache and Jon had suggested they take a break from their search. He had pulled a couple of apples from his pack and they silently ate them down to the core then threw the leftovers in the direction of the horse. Ghost was firmly pushed against her side and Sansa leaned into the wolf, soaking up the heat that radiated from its body.

“Jon, do you think next time we could visit the Godswood?” Jon turned his head to the side so he could look at his sister and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Is there going to be a next time?”

Sansa let out a small snort. “Most likely, unless you would rather I not bother you.” She looked away from him, disappointment already rising up inside her.

“I would like to visit the Godswood with you Sansa, you are not bothering me. I just think that for your own sake it best for you not to come here too often.” Sansa nodded her head but remained silent.

“He could be waiting for you right now Sansa.” Jon stated after minutes of silence had passed between them.

“Maybe, but I like it here with you. I know you will keep me safe.” Sansa leaned away from Ghost and rested her head on Jon’s shoulder. “Does he not keep you safe?” Jon asked her.

“He does, as best he can in a den of lions. Joffrey hasn't touched me since he put a stop to it. He hadn’t even spoken to me, well until today that is.” Sansa sighed, she didn't want to think about what he had told her, didn't want to think about what those monsters had done to her family. She felt the bile rising up in her throat just as it had when Joffrey had cornered her in the gardens and spoken in hushed tones into her ear of how the Frey’s had brutalized her mother, brother and his wife. Ser Meryn, Ser Boros and Ser Balon stood at three points around Brienne, reassuring her that the King was only talking to the Lady and there was no need to worry. Sansa hadn’t expected her to be able to do anything, how could she? Joffrey didn't even lay a single finger on Sansa the entire time he spoke with her.

Sansa swallowed hard sending the stomach acids back down to burn at the bottom of her belly and buried her face into Jon’s arm. “He kissed me yesterday.” Sansa words were muffled and she was glad that Jon couldn't see her face because it was burning at the thought of Jaime’s kiss. It was nothing like what she would have expected from him. It was tender and caring and she had liked it, so much so that it was the only thing she could think about for the rest of the day. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

A little smile came to grace Jon’s lips and he rested his chin on the top of Sansa’s head. “You can tell me anything, it’s what I’m here for after all.” Sansa shifted her head just enough to be able to pull in some fresh air, trying not to disturb the head resting on top of hers.

“He is different to how he used to be. Still so smug and arrogant, and the filth that erupts from his mouth.” Sansa grinned. “But I can tell he wants to be a better person. He likes to pretend that he doesn't care what people think about him but he does. I don’t think many people understand him, I’m not even sure if I do yet, but I want to.”

“Sounds like you miss him.” Jon observed aloud. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back?”

“Just a little bit longer, please.” Sansa pulled away from Jon and pleaded with her words as well as with her eyes.

“I will set up camp.” She smiled at her brother as she felt a warm sensation pass over her cheek; her eyelids gave a few quick confused blinks and she found herself ever so slightly leaning her head forward into the phantom touch. 

*

Jaime knelt in front of Sansa, his hand wrapped around the top of her arm. She was motionless like a statue, and the only movement came from the rise and fall of her chest and the blinking of her eyes. He wasn't even sure if she could see him, he was staring right into her eyes and it was like she was looking right through him, right through the walls behind him to some distant place that she was lost in.

Jaime turned his head towards Tyrion. “What the fuck happened?” He asked his brother a little more bitingly than he had meant to.

“I returned from the council meeting to find her like this. Brienne said that it had started shortly after she had returned with Sansa from a walk in the gardens where Joffrey had spoken with her. Can you guess what it might have been that our gracious nephew had told her?”

Jaime swallowed hard. “Do you think that he would have spared her the more gruesome details of the wedding?” Tyrion arched his eyebrows at Jaime and he almost felt stupid for asking. No, of course Joffrey would have divulged the whole thing. He wondered if his King had declined to attend the meeting of the small council for this very purpose, so he could seek out Sansa and torture her with the details that he knew his uncle’s that very morning had ordered not to be told to her. 

“Should we summon a Maester?” Tyrion asked and Jaime shook his head. “No. She has just gone away inside for awhile; she will come back to me soon.”

Jaime raised his hand from her arm and brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheekbone. “Sansa?” Her eyelids gave a succession of rapid blinks when he said her name and if he hadn’t been watching her so attentively he most likely would have missed the smallest tilt of her head towards him. 

“Let’s get her to the bedchamber, call for her handmaidens to get her settled.” Tyrion placed a hand on Jaime’s arm, stilling his movements. “I don’t think she would want anyone seeing her like this Jaime.”

Jaime gave his brother a curt nod as he stood. He slid his left arm under Sansa’s knees then did the same with his right around her back, wedging his golden hand between her arm and side. She didn't react to anything he did, her body stayed completely still and stiff as he pulled her to him and lifted her from the chaise. Tyrion followed his brother to the bedchamber where Jaime deposited Sansa gently down to sit on the bed.

“I will leave you to it brother. I think it best if she came around to find you here rather than me. I will be in the solar.” Tyrion was out of the room with the door closed before Jaime could object and he stared down at the woman before him. He sighed and rolled his shoulders back, he knew what he’d have to do and it wasn't exactly how he had imagined his first time he’d be doing this to Sansa.

Jaime crawled onto the bed and settled himself behind Sansa, his fingers started to pluck at the laces pulling her gown together at the back and he concentrated on keeping his temper to a minimum with his slow progress. This had all been a lot easier when he’d had two hands and he let out a breath to show his frustration at his awkward tugs, Tyrion could have at least stayed to help him with this. Finally Sansa’s gown slumped forward at the bust and her sleeves started to slide from her shoulders down her arm and Jaime had to hold in his shout of triumph as he scrambled out from behind her and stood from the bed.

“Sansa, I need you stand.” Jaime told her as he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her up. She stood there like an obedient puppet and Jaime stated to pull at her sleeves until her arms were free of them and the bodice of her gown fell to sit around her waist. It was all so painstakingly slow he was at the point where he wanted to just rip the silk from her body but instead used his shaking hand to push the gown over the swell of her hips leaving it to drift down and pool on the floor around her feet. 

Jaime’s eyes roamed over Sansa’s willowy frame now only covered by an incredibly thin linen shift. He traced every curve of her that was illuminated to him from the sunlight shining through the window behind Sansa, took in the impression of her breasts with the hard little buds that pushed against the fabric and his palm twitched with the want to feel the slight weight of one in his hand. Jaime shook his head and stepped around Sansa to pull the bed covers away from the head of the bed then gently maneuvered her onto it and down until she was lying. He pulled the covers over her; he needed her body hidden from him, now. Maybe when she wasn't in such a disassociated state he would continue his perusal of her, sometime in the very near future he decided but right now he truly felt like a bastard for looking over her body this way when she had not consented for him to do so.

Jaime removed his leather coat and flung it over the back of a chair then sat on the opposite side of the bed and kicked his boots off. He reclined himself down on top of the bed-covers beside Sansa and turned his head to look at her. She stared blankly and glassy eyed up at the ceiling and Jaime found himself moving closer to her. He brushed his fingers up the line of her jaw and tucked stray strands of silky hair behind her ear then leaned in further and placed a peck of a kiss on her temple, but it wasn't enough. He shifted his body and pushed the covers down until he could get beneath them then yanked his tunic off over his head before gathering Sansa in his arms and pulled her to him so she rested against his side. Slowly he felt her body soften against him and he rested his cheek against her forehead.

“I will wrap you in my arms and you’ll know that you’re saved.” Jaime whispered to her, reciting a line from a song he was sure Sansa would have sung many times over the course of her life.

*

Sansa felt her whole body jolt when the unintelligible words whispered past her ear, but she knew the voice though, knew the voice they had come from like she knew her own voice. Jon watched her curiously as she turned her head from side to side looking for someone they both knew wouldn't be there.

“Is it time to go little sister?” Jon asked her. Sansa looked at him and nodded, a small smile playing along her lips.

“I don’t think I should mind going so much this time.”

*

She was warm, pleasantly so and even though that heat was coming from something very solid she squirmed her way closer, pushing herself against it until there was no more possible progress to be made. Sansa felt something tighten around her and she finally tilted her head up, her eyes meet Jaime’s. Oh. She wondered if she should move away from him but her body had different intentions as her back arched, her breasts pressing more firmly against him and she blushed at her own actions as Jaime cocked an amused eyebrow at her, his lips turning up into a smirk.

“I didn't think you believed in songs anymore Sansa.” He mused.

“I don’t.” She replied as the words he had spoken became clear in her head and her arm came up to settle on his chest. “But there are other… things, I want to believe in. Things that are more real than songs.”

“I’m sorry.” Jaime blurted out; he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for exactly. Maybe it was for everything that she had been put through and not just for a singular event. He thought someone ought to apologize to her from his family.

Jaime felt the lightest brush of her lips across his ribs. “Hush.” Sansa murmured against his skin and he locked his arms around her even tighter, she didn't even seem to mind that he had his golden hand resting on her hip. She was probably horribly uncomfortable he thought, but she didn't utter a single complaint.

Sansa smiled and the grief that had turned her mind inside out was firmly pushed aside. She had learnt to mourn quickly and then to bury it deep down inside her where she could ignore that it was all slowly rotting away at the edges of her soul. But she felt safe in Jaime’s arms, just as safe as she did when she was with Jon; she’d hoped that she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, but Cersei is just not going to go away that easily, Maybe I should just kill her off now.... Any way now that I have a clear direction that i want to take this story in, yes I have just been winging it so far, I have changed the rating and added in some warnings for much later chapters. 
> 
> Oh and on a side note I think some smut might ensue in the next chapter since it seems Sansa is feeling perfectly fine being in a bed with a half naked Jaime =)


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! I have stayed up so late writing this because I was determined to do it in one sitting. So enjoy!!! =)

They had both fallen asleep and Jaime had been awoken by the cool night air ghosting over his skin and the tossing and turning of Sansa in her sleep. She had managed to kick the bed-covers completely off of the both of them and when he shook her awake he saw the most pained look in her eyes and he knew she must have been dreaming about her recently deceased family. She had sat up beside him and asked him something that in truth had completely managed to floor him. 

Jaime pushed himself up to sit and tried not to show his surprise at Sansa’s forwardness. Well, as forward as a woman like Sansa could be. “You’re asking me to kiss you?”

She blushed, of course she blushed. Sansa was just kind of expecting him to do it not to start a conversation with her about it. She bit into the flesh of her bottom lip and gave him a small nod, gods this was so embarrassing. “I just want to feel something… pleasant.”

Jaime quirked up one of his eyebrows. “Pleasant? That was the best word you could think of to describe it?” He crossed his arms over his chest and completely failed to look affronted as a smile came to his lips.

Sansa was slowly losing her confidence, why had she even asked him? She felt stupid and irritated at that annoyingly haughty look on Jaime’s face, gods she should have just kept her mouth shut and gone back to sleep. Feeling more than a little dejected Sansa sat back on her heels and made to move away from Jaime only to feel his hand clasp around one of her wrists and give it a little squeeze. She hesitantly brought her eyes to his face before he gave her a ruff tug and she fell forwards into him, her hand scrambling to find purchase on his shoulder trying to save herself the indignity of finding her face planted into his chest 

“Where are you going?” He asked her gruffly. Sansa let out a small whoosh of breath, that was not a voice he had spoken to her with before and she felt the manifestation of the strange, yet not unwelcome tingling in the pit of her stomach that always seemed to follow when she would find herself in very close proximity to Jaime.

Sansa opened her mouth to speak but she couldn't find any words to express to him what she was feeling that he wouldn't be able to find a way to mock her with. She was completely out of her element and the more she hesitated the more smug Jaime’s smile became until she uttered one single word. “Please.”

Jaime gave her another tug, gentler this time and he pulled her to him until he could feel her breasts flattened out against his chest then leaned into her to brush his lips lightly over hers as he had done the day before. “Only because you used your manners.” He murmured against the corner of her mouth. Jaime pressed his lips to hers and Sansa opened her mouth to him at the first flick of his tongue as her hand moved around to the back of his neck where she delved her fingers into his hair. She let out a small gasp as the tip of Jaime’s tongue tickled along the roof of her mouth and she felt the tingling in her stomach increase with every swipe and twirl of her tongue against his. He slowly pulled away, top teeth lightly scraping over her bottom lip before he it took it between both rows and gave it a gentle bite.

He kissed along the line of Sansa’s jaw as his hand left her wrist and came up to slip her shift down her arm then followed the curve of her neck to her bare shoulder where his kisses turned into small nips that left little red marks along her perfectly pale flesh. “Better?” He asked her between brushes of his lips against her skin. 

No, Sansa thought, not better at all. Her entire body had rushed with warmth at the fell of Jaime’s lips traveling down her neck, her nerve endings stood at attention with every nip of his teeth, and there was now a throb between her legs that seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat that made her feel like she wanted more of something she had no idea how to ask for. And the more he continued to tease her skin with his mouth the more the throb began to turn into an aching need, and all she could do was shake her head in response to his question as her hand held a firmer grip in his hair and her breathing became heavier in his ear. 

Jaime smirked into Sansa’s shoulder; well this was a pleasurable development though he did feel a small amount of unease at touching her like this after her descent into gods no where today. But he still wrapped both of his arms around her waist before lifting her enough to bring her legs over to straddle his lap, her shift bunching around the top her thighs. Keeping his right arm tightly around her Jaime dropped his other down to Sansa’s thigh and massaged the supple skin as he nipped and twirled his tongue back up the length of her neck in search of her lips. He found them, warm, pliable and parted for him and as Jaime slipped his tongue back into the heat of her mouth his hand snaked under Sansa’s shift and found the edge of her smalls that ran along the line of her pelvis. He traced it with his fingers over her thigh and down the curve of her backside where he gave her a rough squeeze before thrusting himself up between her legs and let out a groan into her mouth as his hardening cock rubbed against her.

Sansa gasped and a nervous tremble ran down her back at the feel of Jaime hard and pushing against her, his fingertips traveling up the smooth expanse of her stomach, slowing when he encountered the bump of each one of her ribs then brushed along the underside of her breast. He cups her, the sudden heat making Sansa arch and press into his hand and a small whimper escapes her lips as he kneads the flesh gently and rolls his thumb over her pebbled nipple, his face buried in her neck sucking and laving at the skin beneath his mouth. 

The further Jaime explored her body the more intense each one of his touches felt against her, Sansa had never experienced anything like this before and she wasn't sure whether she wanted to continue or to stop; wasn't sure if she was ready for what this could lead to. The warmth from his hand trailed back down her body and she felt him grasp the bottom of her shift and start to push it up over her hips. 

Sansa panicked, no, she wasn't ready for him to see her completely bare, wasn't ready for him to see the marks they had left behind on her. Cersei wouldn't have such things marring her body. “W-w-wait.” Sansa stammered and she felt Jaime freeze beneath her, his hand coming to rest lightly against the curve of her waist with her shift bunched in it.

Jaime pulled his face away from Sansa’s neck and let himself fall back against the pillows that were propped up behind him, breathing heavily he met her eyes and tried to ignore the insistent throbbing of his cock and how it pushed almost painfully against the lacing of his trousers. Jaime looked Sansa over, wide eyes with cheeks flushed, lips a deep red and swollen, trembling hands and the erratic rise and fall of her chest. He had done that to her, taken her so far away from her carefully crafted facade and he couldn't stop the disappointment that filled him knowing that she was going to tell him to stop. 

Sansa pulled in a deep breath then let it out in a quivering sigh as she watched her hands trail down from Jaime’s shoulders, down over every hard mass of rigid muscle to the sharp lines of his hips. “If I could, I’d like to leave it on please.” 

Sansa didn't look up at Jaime; she kept her eyes on her hands and studied the contrast of her pale skin against his own bronzed complexion and she felt the smallest tremor come form the hand that Jaime held at her waist before he dropped her shift and brought it up to her chin tilting her face to meet his eyes, a small smile playing along his lips.  
“As you wish.”

Jaime leaned back into Sansa then shuffled them backwards towards the headboard so he could sit more comfortably. He kept his eyes trained on hers determined not to lose them again while he sneaked his hand back beneath her shift and showing no signs of urgency brushed his fingertips up the sensitive skin of the inside of her thigh. Sansa bit her bottom lip, she wasn't ready and Jaime could see that. If she couldn't be naked in front of him then she most definitely wasn't ready to be fucked by him, but there were other things he could do to her. Maybe this would be better, to make it about her rather than about him. His hand came to the apex of her thighs and he watched as Sansa hardened the hold she’d kept on her bottom lip and he smugly quirked up one side of his mouth at her as he ran his index finger down the length of her slit over her damp smalls.

“Has anyone ever touched you here before?” Sansa’s mouth fell open into a small ‘o’ at Jaime’s question, and his half smirk turned into a full fledged one at her obvious surprise. 

Sansa shook her head and his smile widened. “Have you ever touched yourself here?” Gods was he purposefully trying to embarrass her? It wasn't enough that over the last ten minutes he had made her feel so many things that she never knew existed. Wasn't enough that he had her heart beating the fastest it ever had, hadn’t been enough that her smalls were sticking to her and she had no idea if it was normal to feel that wet down there. No, he had to go and open his mouth right after he had felt how soaked she was and put her though just a little bit more mortification.

Sansa raised her chin and folded her arms over her breasts. “I’m not answering those questions.” She stated as Jaime’s finger continued to slowly, maybe even tortuously run up and down her, sending small shocks of bliss right up through her core to pool in the growing warmth in the pit of her stomach.

“Why not?” He had moved his hand over to her hip and had started to languidly tug at the ribbon that laced her smalls together, his eyes boring into hers the entire time.

Sansa hadn’t known that it was possible but she felt her face heat even more and she wasn't sure if it was due to her ire or her anticipation. “Because, it is not...” Sansa frowned as Jaime interjected. “Because it is not proper.” He mocked in his best attempt at a feminine voice. Sansa clenched her teeth together and let out a huff of breath through her nose. Unfolding her arms she placed her hands on each side of his torso and tried to push herself off of him as best she could with his arm wrapped around her back. Gods, he was such a… cad! And for some infuriating reason that Sansa couldn't explain, she felt her heart quicken in its race and the pleasant warmth in her core flame higher. 

She didn't get very far; Jaime was quick to join his right arm with his left and he crushed her against him, her arms trapped between them and her legs flung uselessly on either side of him. She arched her back and squirmed against him, trying to gain some leverage to free herself and Jaime let out a low groan in her ear. Sansa stilled immediately and she could feel that part of him hard and pressing into her hip.

“By all means, please continue with your struggling.” Jaime murmured into her ear right before her took the shell of it between his teeth and gave it a small tug.

“Jaime, let me go.” It came out as a growl and Sansa was surprised by the ferocity of her own voice, Jaime chuckled. “No.”

Sansa huffed her breath and gave another small squirm against him only to feel Jaime’s arms tighten around her even more, then the warmth of his tongue tracing the curve of her ear before he whispered in it. “There is absolutely nothing proper about what we are doing Sansa and I’m pretty positive I’m not the only one that’s enjoying it. Now, if I let you go are you going to be a good little wolf?” She relaxed against Jaime at the soft purr of his voice in her ear and gave a small nod of assent.

Jaime slowly released the hold he had around Sansa and as her arms became free she gently pushed her hands against his chest and resumed the position he had placed her in before she had tried to climb off of him. Jaime stared fixedly into her eyes and keeping his right arm around her hips moved his left to rest at the very edge of her shift on her thigh.

“May I continue?” He asked Sansa, his voice rough and so completely masculine that it sent a shot of what she could only describe as desire, right the way through her. Jaime’s hand gave a small twitch against her leg as he waited patiently for her answer and after moments of nothing but the sound of her own furious heartbeat in her ears Sansa breathed out a small “Yes”. And she caught the flash of something in his eyes, something possibly akin to relief and she thought maybe here in this room with Jaime Lannister between her legs she had power, and it was her in control of what would inevitably happen.

Jaime cleared his throat as he moved her shift up to the very top of her thighs and pushed it tight against her front leaving the excess material to fall behind Sansa where he tucked it beneath her then spread his legs further apart which in turn spread Sansa’s. His eyes finally left her face to travel down to the view he now had between her thighs and he gave a little sigh, still not quite right.

“Place your hands on my calves and lean back.” He commanded and Sansa complied immediately and blushed at her own eagerness. Jaime smirked then lowered his eyes again to a pretty pair of cream colored silk smalls, green ribbon laced through small gold grommets, one side already half undone and the other remained tied in a perfect bow. 

Again he slid his finger lightly down the length of her slit over the silk and he glanced up for her reaction just in time to see her chomp down on her bottom lip and he briefly wondered if she knew how incredibly alluring that small habit was. He let out a long breath, his cock twitching in reaction to the small thrust of Sansa’s hips and he once again missed the loss of his right hand. Trying his best to ignore the throbbing, aching erection between his legs he resumed his unlacing of the ribbons that held Sansa’s smalls in place until he was able to peel them away from her slick cunt.

He ran his fingers through the damp auburn curls that framed her there before her slipped one between her lips and sought out that hard little bundle of nerves that would have her bucking up into his hand with each pass over it. He was there circling around it with the tip of his finger and he heard a small whimper pass from between Sansa’s lips, he looked up watching her face intently as his finger finally brushed over her clit and her eyes widened at the same time she let out an “Oh.”

Jaime smiled at her wickedly like he knew exactly what it was he was doing to her and Sansa’s hips thrust up of their own accord seeking more of the pleasure that his hand had just given her. Everything was becoming so consuming and intense and Sansa felt like she was ready to burst as Jaime’s finger continuously circled over a part of her she never even knew existed up until now. Her nerve endings tingled, nipples hard and aching for Jaime to do something, anything to them while her arms trembled beneath her. And then his finger was gone and Sansa let out a whimper at the loss of contact. She opened her eyes and locked them on Jaime and his self-satisfied grin.

“Keep them open.” Jaime ordered her and Sansa gave him a series of quick nods before he descended on her again with his hand, one single finger slowly sliding into the wet warmth of her cunt where he curled it before just as slowly pulling it back out then thrust it back into her slightly harder and he was rewarded with a gasp. Using his right arm which was still wrapped around her hips he pulled Sansa back to him, her hands leaving their purchase on his legs and came to clutch at the top of his arms. Jaime crushed his lips against Sansa’s and as he slid his tongue into her mouth and twirled it over hers he added a second finger to his thrusting while he moved his thumb up to lightly press and rub against her clit.

Sansa moaned into Jaime’s mouth and ground herself down onto his hand unashamedly, something was building inside of her, the warmth in her stomach coiled tighter and tighter and she could feel the arm Jaime had wrapped around her trying to coax her into moving her hips, lifting her up and then back down against him. She tightened her grip on his arms and dug her nails into his flesh as she started to move herself against his hand and his right arm fell away from her. 

Jaime broke away from Sansa’s lips and lowered his head down to her breasts where he caught one of her nipples between his teeth and he gently bit down then rolled his tongue over it, wetting the thin linen as Sansa thrust down onto his hand, fucking herself with the two fingers he held inside her, his thumb rubbing over her nub in time with every one of her downward drives. He could feel her quivering and clutching around him as she started to move faster above him chasing her climax, her face pressed into his neck and every single one of her exquisite little pants and moans filling his ears. His cock throbbed and he wanted nothing more than to push her down and fuck her but instead he curled his fingers inside her and whispered to her about how he wanted to hear her moan his name when she came undone riding his fingers.

Sansa clutched tightly around him and the smallest murmur of “Jaime” reached his ears as she ground herself down on him one last time and he felt the wet rush of her release fill her cunt and run down his fingers. He gently continued to plunge them in her as her body writhed and shook then finally slumped against him, her breaths coming out in hard pants and her cunt giving a few more quivers around his fingers before he pulled them from her.

Sansa pulled away from Jaime and looked at him with droopy eyes that immediately widened when she watched him slide one of the fingers that had been inside her, into his mouth and suck the evidence of her very first climax from it. He smiled at her and before she even realized what he was doing he had shoved the other finger that had been inside her into her own mouth and with a raised eyebrow simply said “Suck.”

She gave the finger a dubious flick of her tongue and finding it not to taste unpleasant hollowed her cheeks and gave it a firm suck before Jaime pulled his finger from her mouth and replaced it with a swipe of his tongue as he gave her a gentle kiss.

“Better?” He asked Sansa and she suddenly felt completely and utterly embarrassed and she fell back against him burying her head in his chest. “Gods.” Sansa groaned and Jaime gave a quiet chuckle, though having her continuing to straddle his lap was doing absolutely nothing to divest him of his raging erection so he gave her a gentle pat on her backside. “Up you hop.”

Sansa slowly started to shift her drowsy limbs and climbed off of Jaime and fell onto her back beside him, a small smile playing along her lips as she suppressed the need to giggle like a giddy little girl, but that had to of been the most incredible thing she had ever felt. Then she suddenly felt guilty because he had done that for her and she had done nothing for him, she hadn’t even touched him there so she turned her head towards him and as he settled back pulling the bed-covers up and over the top of them she asked Jaime a question that two months ago she never would have even guessed would pass through her lips.

“Jaime… Do you want me to, you know, touch your…” Sansa hesitated at saying the word that Jaime seemed to say on a regular bases.

“Cock?” He asked her and of course Sansa’s cheeks flamed red. She gave him a small nod of her head and he leaned over and brushed his lips over hers.

“No I’ll be fine, but it was very generous of you to offer my Lady.” And as Jaime spoke those words he could hear a voice inside his head calling him a fucking idiot. 

She gave him a small smile, obviously proud of herself that she had even offered and Jaime gathered her in his arms and pulled her into his side where she burrowed in against him, his gold hand coming to rest on her hip. Sansa reached out and brushed her fingertips over the cold metal and she looked up at Jaime whom had watched her gesture with surprise in his eyes.

“Do you always wear it to bed?” She asked him, more curious than anything.

“No.”

“Then why are you wearing it now?” Sansa asked and he looked at her like she had said the most idiotic thing in the world.

“Go to sleep Sansa.” He ordered and she gave him a pout of her lips before resting her head on his chest. She felt exhausted and it really wasn't hard to just forget her line of questioning and let her eyes flutter shut.

It didn't take Sansa long to fall asleep, and it took Jaime another fifteen minutes after that for his cock to finally become soft enough for him to be able to completely ignore it. The soft snores from Sansa filled his ears and he smiled, who would have ever thought that Sansa Stark would do such an unladylike thing such as snoring. He looked over at his golden hand and hesitated briefly before reaching over with his left arm and hastily unbuckled the straps before he lost his nerve then brought the metal appendage up and tucked it beneath his pillow, she shouldn't have to feel something so hard and cold digging into her all night he thought. 

Jaime dragged his hand down Sansa’s side and over the bumps of her ribs, something that had stuck in his head as soon as he had felt them earlier. He had failed to notice just how thin she was and now that he thought about it he had only ever seen her eat a minimal amount of food, and mostly fruits. He wondered if she was deliberately starving herself on purpose or if it was a genuine lack of appetite due to anxiety and stress. He would put his money on the latter. Tomorrow Jaime decided, he was going to make her eat bacon when she broke her fast. 

Jaime pulled Sansa closer to him and brushed his lips over her temple, he liked this, it felt good. He didn't even really care that he had wasted a perfectly good hard cock. And then the most incredible thing came to light in his mind, not once in the entire time that he and Sansa had been fooling around had he given the slightest thought to Cersei and Jaime smiled, surprisingly, that also felt good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bow-chicka-wow-wow


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 15/08/15
> 
> A/N: Added an extra scene smack bang into the middle of this chapter. Hopefully it's an improvement and helps story and character development. :)

Jaime woke with Sansa in his arms and his face buried in her hair, with his eyes still pinched shut Jaime sniffed then he smiled, orange blossoms. The clearing of a throat sounded in the room and Jaime reluctantly opened his eyes to find Tyrion sitting across from the bed in a chair.

 

“Good morning brother.” Tyrion greeted cheerfully, the hint of a smug smile on his face. Jaime rubbed the sleep from his eyes and returned Tyrion’s smile with an even smugger one of his own.

 

“Is the little wolf still asleep?” Tyrion asked and Jaime felt Sansa’s body stiffen slightly against him.

 

“No, she is awake; I assume she is waiting for you to leave so she can save herself some embarrassment.” Jaime felt her body stiffen more and then a light tap of a foot to his shin showing her annoyance.

 

“Ah I see, unfortunate for her then that she shared a bed with you, does she know that you take great pleasure in her discomfiture?” Jaime laughed as he stroked a single finger up the length of Sansa’s thigh beneath the bed-covers.

 

“She would have to be truly obtuse to of not have figured that out by now.” Jaime said as his finger ran up her side until he reached her breast and gave it a gentle squeeze, he received another tap to his shin, slightly harder this time.

 

“How long do you think she is going to lay there with her eyes shut?” Tyrion asked his brother.

 

“I guess it depends on how uncomfortable we can make her feel.” Jaime mused with a hint of a challenge in his voice as he gave Sansa’s nipple a small tweak. Tyrion broke into a grin and went straight for the jugular. “So did the two of you…?” A hand appeared at Jaime’s side and he completely ignored the fingernails that dug into his skin. 

 

“No,” Jaime sighed. “Just her.”

 

“Really, and did you… afterwards?” Tyrion made a crude pumping gesture with his hand and Jaime sighed again. “No.”

 

Tyrion looked surprised, “Why not?” He asked.

 

“I wouldn't want to shame the memory of my right hand with the below par performance of my left.” Jaime stated.

 

“You could always teach Sansa…” A disgruntled groan came from the aforementioned woman. “Yes, fine I’m awake. The two of you have some serious problems. Really, don’t either of you have any decorum?” She asked as she pushed Jaime’s hand away from her breast, all she could do was thank the gods that the bed-covers were tucked up around her neck.

 

“She is right Jaime; after all she is no common slattern. My apologies Sansa, it won’t happen again.” Tyrion seemed genuine in his apology but Sansa could still see the hint of a smirk on his face.

 

“Good, because none of this is at all…” The two Lannister’s cut her off, “Proper.” They said in unison.

 

“Yes, we no.” Jaime finished up in a drawl. 

 

Gods this was so awkward, Sansa couldn't think of a more inappropriate situation. Tyrion had told her that he didn't care if she sought a relationship with Jaime, that he in fact supported it fully yet it still didn't stop her from feeling uneasy about these state of affairs and a small part of her wished that she had been married to Jaime some how instead of Tyrion. But then again if she had been forced into a marriage with Jaime as she had been with Tyrion then she probably never would have formed any semblance of the feelings she had for him now.

 

“So I thought I would wake the both of you. Sansa’s handmaidens will be here shortly, wouldn't do for them to find you in my bed brother.”

 

Jaime grinned and retrieved his golden hand from beneath his stack of pillows and worked it onto his stump, “Noted.”

 

“And what will you be doing with yourself today Jaime?” Tyrion asked.

 

Jaime glanced down at Sansa and an idea struck him. “Would you like to go on a ride to the Kingswood after breaking our fast?” He asked Sansa. “Don’t you have to guard Joffrey?”

 

Jaime snorted. “I’m the Lord Commander; I can do what I want.” Sansa still seemed to hesitate with the idea and Jaime saw her shoot a quick glance at Tyrion who immediately intercepted on her behalf. “Sansa has been weary of the city since the riot.” Tyrion stated plainly but gave Sansa a sympathetic look.

 

“Oh.” Just another thing he knew nothing about, Jaime thought. He leaned down and pushed a kiss to Sansa’s temple and she flamed red at the small show of affection in front of Tyrion.

 

“Don’t worry little wolf, I will keep you safe.”

 

* * *

 

Tyrion watched the flowing movements of her form as she moved about the bed, fluffing pillows and smoothing persistent wrinkles from the covers while ignoring his presence. Her back had stiffened when he’d entered the bedchamber; she knew the steps of his walk well, there was no need on her part to turn and give curtsies to someone above her station when it was only him and she could admit to taking some form of satisfaction in her snubbing.

 

“Shae…” Her name lingered in the air between them, spoken hesitantly from lips that had once known every inch of her bare body. “I would like us to talk—if you have the time, of course.” Tyrion spoke softly, still, she did not turn to him. If he thought that all it took to engage her was a gentle tone then he was sorely mistaken.

 

Frustration started to seep in, his eyelids flickering as Tyrion stepped forward to wrap his hand around her slender wrist. “There was once a period when you held great interest for whatever nonsense slipped from my mouth,” he remarked.

 

Shae pulled her wrist from his grasp, a sharp tug that left his fingers flexing in the air. “And what would you like to speak of? How many children yourself and Sansa will bring into the world? How much you enjoy having those pretty thighs of hers spread wide while you pleasure her?”

 

Now she faced him, her arms crossed beneath her breasts as she glared down at his inferior height. “Or would you like to speak of the love you still harbour for me while you spend your nights with another woman?”

 

“You know that I did not have a choice. What did you expect me to do, Shae? To go against my father’s orders?”

 

“I expected you to be a man!” Her shout rang out and Tyrion couldn’t help but flinch. “Lower your voice, please.”

 

He sighed, pinching what was left of his nose between his thumb and index finger; women could sometimes be the hardest creatures to please. “Regardless of my marital status, of which there is nothing to be done for now, my intention was never for you to be hurt. I care for you—greatly, and what is between Sansa and I is nothing more than an amicable respect. I do not lay with her as a husband does a wife.” Tyrion had hoped to placate her. He had missed her more than he thought he would; her smile, the softness of her skin and the scent of her hair, but the snort that she delivered shattered any hope that she would once again enfold him within her arms.

 

“You do not lay with her as one does a wife?” Shae moved past him, the flowing skirts of her gown brushing against his arm before she came to a stop at a pile of linen tossed down not far from the bed. Such lies, she thought as she rummaged through the cloth. He was a fool to think that she hadn’t been waiting, hadn’t been expecting to find such a piece of evidence that would confirm whether or not he had touched his young wife in a sexual nature.

 

Shae’s hand clasped around the silk garment—still the slightest bit damp from the prior nights rush of hormones—and turned on her heel before throwing them in the face of the man that had once been her lover, her Giant of Lannister. “I can smell the arousal on them,” she hissed.

 

The small clothes dropped from Tyrion’s face to land into his hand and while examining the garment he couldn’t supress the small chuckle that passed from between his lips. So his brother hadn’t merely been playing a game to embarrass the little wolf, he had truly been physically intimate with her in some way. This development was more than he had expected in such a short amount of time, but he was pleased by it nonetheless.

 

“You think to mock me by laughing? You lie and then you laugh when caught out?”

 

Tyrion looked up to be greeted by the flash of a hand; a hand that had once spent nights soothing him was now used to deliver a slap to his cheek. It stung only a little, his eyebrow raising in annoyance at her inability to give him even a moment to explain himself before she was spewing out her anger.

 

“It was a laugh of satisfaction for reasons that I’m not quite ready to share but I can assure you, I am not the cause of her arousal.”

 

Shae seemed to pause, taking her time in weighing his words while Tyrion held his breath and wished for the best.  She smiled at him and for an instant he truly did think that the woman had come to her senses just before her smile morphed into a sneer.

 

“Goodbye, Tyrion.”

 

And with that, she was gone; skirts swishing around her legs as she left him standing there alone and still holding his wife’s underwear scrunched up in his hand. To think that something that he could glorify in was also something that had possibly ruined any chance of regaining Shae’s affection left a bitter-sweet taste to dominant his mouth. But, there was always hope. Maybe when he felt confident enough to reveal the nature of Jaime and Sana’s relationship she would forgive him and he could once again spend his nights buried within her warmth.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa’s eyes closed as she deeply inhaled the calming scent of the lavender field that lay not far from the meadow Jaime had brought her to. He had laughed at her lack of riding skills the entire way and in a rare show of chivalry he had helped her dismount from her mare then unbuckled his cloak from his shoulders and gave it to her to fan out on the ground for her to sit upon. Now she found her fingers combing through strands of golden hair as she basked in the warm rays of the sun like a cat and the corners of her lips twitched at the contented grunt that came from below her. It felt unusual to be affectionate with someone and have them be affectionate with her in return, it was something that she had gone without for so long, starved of it, and it was taking her some time getting used to the small frivolous touches that passed between herself and Jaime.   

 

Sansa opened her eyes and looked down at the head that rested in her lap, cushioned by the copious amounts of silk that formed the skirts of her gown and the twitch she had felt in her lips formed into a smile as she glided her fingertips over Jaime’s cheek, along his jaw, and down his neck as she watched the flickering movements behind his closed eyelids. A small surprised gasp escaped her mouth as a warm hand enclosed her wrist and Sansa’s eyes traveled to look at his large hand clasped around the frailest part of her arm, Jaime’s fingers overlapped his thumb as he moved his hand further up her arm and slowly brought it to his lips where he placed a kiss at the pulse point of her wrist then lowered her hand to lay flat on his chest and Sansa was sure she could feel the beating of his heart through the layers of clothing he wore.         

 

Jaime popped open one eye and peered up at her. “Tell me a story?” He asked of Sansa and she let out a small sigh.

 

“One with a happy ending?” She asked and Jaime opened his other eye and grinned. “Of course.” He replied.

 

“Fine, there once was a princess, one so devastatingly beautiful that when a goddess cast her gaze down upon the young maiden for the first time she became crazed with jealousy for no one should presume to be more beautiful than her. The goddess appeared before the princess and offered her a single red rose with the promise of eternal happiness and love upon accepting the gift. The princess was naive, the king and queen had sheltered her from the evil that occurred in their lands and beyond and the princess was too trusting. She accepted the rose without hesitation and as she took the stem in her hand a thorn sprouted from it and stabbed her finger, the very tip of the thorn broke off and became embedded in the princesses’ soft flesh. Her eyes fluttered and her body swayed side to side before she finally collapsed in a heap to the ground. The jealous goddess had cursed the rose with eternal slumber.”

 

Jaime placed two fingers over Sansa’s lips silencing her. “I asked for one with a happy ending.” Sansa brushed his fingers aside then linked hers through his own and brought their entwined hands back down to settle upon Jaime’s chest.

 

“Hush, it does. Years passed and the princess remained asleep, it seemed there was nothing to be done for her. Then one day, a prince from a bordering land hearing the tale of the slumbering princess traveled to the tower the king and queen had laid her to rest in and he, so taken with her beauty claimed her maidenhead while she slept. Months past after the princes visit and the princesses’ belly became thick with child until one night while still slumbering she birthed white haired twin boys, and the babes seeking nourishment from their mother suckled on her fingers and the tip of the cursed thorn emerged from her flesh and the princess awoke to find herself no longer a maiden, but a mother. There was no mistaking who the father was of her children, there was only one man with hair such as theirs and the princess took her children and traveled to the lands of the prince turned king and he welcomed the princess and their children into his castle and asked for her hand in marriage despite the vehement reservations of his lady mother.”

 

“This is a terrible story.” Jaime mused and Sansa lifted their entwined hands and thumped Jaime on the chest with them as she cast an irritated frown down upon him. Jaime chuckled and closed his eyes. “Yes, sorry, I’ll shut up.”

 

“The princess did everything in her power to win the favor of the queen mother yet it seemed to be her children that won her admiration. The queen mother fawned over the twin boys and as they grew they became fattened with sweets gifted to them by their doting grandmother and the princess grew concerned. Then early one morning when flakes of snow drifted down from the dreary sky above and the princess was taking a turn about the gardens a cloaked figure pulled her into an alcove and whispered a warning in her ear. “The queen mother dabbles in the ways of the dark gods my princess, and she plans to devour your little prince’s to retain her youth.” The princess was horrified and she did not want to believe the cloaked man but as the weeks passed and her sons grew fatter and the queen mother plied them with more and more sweets the princess came to see the mysterious mans words as truth. The princess then sought out council from the cloaked man and he told her of a place in the woods that the queen mother frequented, the dangers would be many, but if she could remain hidden the opportunity would present itself.”

 

“And it did, the princess followed the queen mother and watched as she fell to her knees before an ancient alter and prayed to the dark gods of old and the more reverently she prayed the louder a hissing sound became from a pit beside the alter. The princess sneaked closer, inched her way forward until she stood at the queen mothers back. “You plan to eat my children?” The princess asked and the queen mother turned and sneered at the princess. “I plan to eat your children my dear, and then I will slit you pretty little neck and offer your blood as a sacrifice.” The queen mother stood and not suspecting the other woman’s will to save her children stepped closer to the alter, closer to the pit and all the princess had to do was push, and the monster that stood before her fell into the pit of vipers at her back. Her children safe from their grandmother, the princess married her betrothed and became queen and they all lived happily, ever, after.” Sansa finished her story by punctuating the last three words and Jaime gaped up at her.

 

“Who in the hells taught you this shit? Was your septa mad in the head?” Sansa laughed for she thought it a great feat to be able to shock Jaime Lannister.

 

“There was a maid back at Winterfell, Old Nan; she used to tell us all sorts of stories, mostly ones of creatures from beyond the wall. Father did not approve of course.” Sansa gave a small shrug of her shoulders and Jaime snorted.

 

“I don’t think there was much your father did approve of.” Jaime assessed. “Like you?” Sansa queried as she lifted a delicate eyebrow at him.

 

Jaime cleared his throat; he was quite possibly toeing the line with an unpleasant topic and tried to phrase his next words honestly but carefully. “No your father never approved of me, especially not after I killed Aerys. If he was still alive and this happened,” Jaime lifted his and Sansa’s entwined hands and gave them a little shake before lowering them back down. “He would most likely have my head.”

 

Sansa tucked an unruly curl behind Jaime’s ear and smiled down at him. “That would be a shame, sounds like a waste of a perfectly good handsome head to me.” She then began to chew at her bottom lip in thought and after a few moments of silence she looked back down at Jaime. “If Lord Tywin were in the midst of storming Kings Landing, why did you slew the Mad King?”

 

Jaime released Sansa’s hand and pushed himself up to sit before turning to face her. “Why do you ask? Are you going to pass judgment on me as well little wolf?” Jaime’s voice had lost some of its warmth and Sansa shrunk back from him a little as she shook her head.

 

“No, I just want to know more about you is all. But you don’t have to answer.” Sansa said in a small voice.

 

Jaime let out a low breath. “I slit the Mad Kings throat to stop him from giving the order to burn Kinds Landing to the ground.” He stated simply.

 

Jaime watched shock pass briefly over Sansa’s face as she opened and closed her mouth a few times before speaking. “Why would he do such a thing?”

 

“Did I mention he was mad? Yes? Good.” Jaime said bluntly leaving no room for a response from Sansa.

 

Her eyes fled Jaime’s to stare down at her hands in her lap and he felt guilt settle in his stomach. He knew what would happen now; she would shut herself off from him emotionally and keep a physical distance from him. These were not easy questions for him to answer, especially when it was the daughter of the man who had openly condemned him for his actions, asking Jaime the questions. But she surprised him; Sansa lifted her head and meet his eyes, jutted her chin out by half an inch, showing the tiniest display of defiance with that minuscule action.

 

“You know I will never fully trust you Jaime if I don’t understand you. So maybe you should stop hiding like a little boy all the time.” Sansa stood and turned away from him but before she could even take a second step Jaime caught her hand with his and gave her arm a forceful tug sending her sprawling backwards, a surprised shriek erupting from her mouth. Jaime caught Sansa on her way down and guided her into his lap where he wrapped both of his arms around her waist holding her in place, her skirts puffed up around her knees.

 

“Though I do enjoy these games we play of you trying to leave and me pulling you back, it really would be nice if you had some patience, it is a virtue you know.”

 

Sansa gave a small snort. “Yes, because you clearly exude patience.” Sansa knew that it was a useless retort before it had even left her lips for Jaime was actually a patient man, well when it had came to her he was.

 

Sansa wiggled around on Jaime’s lap trying to gain some breathing room and he chuckled. “You should probably stop doing that.” He warned her. “You should probably let me go.” Sansa retorted back.

 

“Fine, don’t say I didn't warn you.” Jaime rested his cheek against the side of Sansa’s head and continued to hold her to him while auburn strands tickled his neck and face; this could actually be easier he thought, not having to face her as he spoke.

 

“Now Aerys was mad, hence his title of the Mad King,” Sansa continued to struggle against Jaime as he spoke. “And he had an obsession with fire to the point where I’m positive he would become aroused at the sight of someone burning to death.” Sansa stilled some upon hearing that but didn't completely give up on her endeavor for freedom, and as she continued to wiggle every now and then and pull at his arms he felt the tell tale twitch of his cock that confirmed what he already knew, he was enjoying all the friction Sansa was creating with her backside grinding against him.

 

Jaime smiled and pushed a kiss into her hair then cleared his throat to continue. “He had caches of wildfire stored all over Kings Landing in the event Robert would take the city. You see, he would have rather murdered every living soul in Kings Landing than leave an intact city for Robert to rule over. And while my father sacked the city, Aerys ordered his hand Rossart to burn the city to the ground; I gutted him before he could complete his task.” Sansa finally stilled in his lap and she turned her head towards him a little.

 

“Jaime, is that your, you know?” Sansa asked and Jaime grinned broadly. “Yes, I told you to stop wiggling around on me and you wouldn't, now look at what you've done. Now I suggest you shut up, stay still and listen or else I will be forced to use it on you.” Sansa folded her arms across her chest and let out a small indignant huff of breath but stayed still and Jaime lost himself in his story in hopes his cock would swiftly soften.

 

“I found Aerys in the throne room alone, he ran from me when he realized I was no longer there to protect him and I slit his throat before he could give any orders to his remaining pyromancers to set the city aflame. The man was so delusional that he actually believed he wouldn't die by fire, that instead it would transform him into a dragon. Killing him has been, and probably will remain being, my finest act.”

 

Sansa finally relaxed against Jaime and he loosened his hold around her. “Did my father know this?” She asked and Jaime gave a short sour laugh. “No, why would he believe me? He made his assumptions as soon as he rode into the throne room and saw me seated upon the iron throne. Your father’s opinion was not something to be swayed easily.” Jaime brought his left hand up and swept Sansa’s hair over her shoulder and nuzzled his face into her neck placing light kisses up the length of it, trying to take away any sting his words may have caused.

 

“Why were you sitting on the throne?” Sansa asked as she arched her neck to give Jaime better access to it. “And let anyone come along and claim it in the name of another Targaryen, in the name of Viserys? The same mad blood ran through the prince’s veins as Aerys. I relinquished the throne to the first man that came to claim it, I didn't care who it was, as long as it wasn't another Targaryen.”

 

“And you didn't want to be King?” Jaime snorted into her neck. “No. No absolutely not.”

 

“So you broke your oath to the Kings Guard but in doing so you saved hundreds of thousands of people from a gruesome death.” Sansa couldn't help but smile. “You are probably one of the most honorable people I know Ser Jaime.” She mused and Jaime swallowed hard, _you wouldn't think so if you knew I threw your brother out of the top of a tower._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a mostly light filler chapter, they've got to have some in-depth conversations at some point. And yes Jaime is perverted and inappropriately hands-y and I like it =)
> 
> The story that Sansa tells Jaime got away from me a bit, so I'm sorry if you're all like, wha...??? Anyway I took a tiny bit of creative liberty with the original sleeping beauty tale, but hey it still had a happy ending, kind of. And I really couldn't think of a better way to bring up Ned without Sansa blatantly saying "So, my dad never liked you."
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading, commenting and rating. You guys are the best, until the next chapter. 
> 
> Oh, and there is totally a lavender field in my Kingswood.
> 
> Ok, I'm going now.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Sansa let out a frustrated sigh, gods she didn't even know how long she had been in bed for. It was easy in the day when there were so many things to distract her, when there was Jaime there to distract her. But once the sun had set and the keep was blanketed in darkness and Sansa’s head finally came to rest on her pillow that was when it became hard. She could see it all; see the delicate perfect ivory skin of her mother’s throat spread wide as the blade ran over it, the river of crimson that followed and came to drench the bodice of her gown. She could see every stitch through Robb’s neck, the thick needle pushed and buried into his flesh and then through Greywinds. Her insides churned, stomach acids rose to burn at her throat. Monsters, they were all monsters. She was surrounded by them and wondered how long it would take for her to become one too.

 

Jaime wasn't a monster though, he may have sired one but that didn't make him one himself. Sansa peeked up at Tyrion over the edge of the bed-cover, he wasn't a monster either. She thought of the Mad King, Jaime had told her that madness ran through the Targaryen bloodline and wondered if it had to do with the fact that they sired their children with their siblings, maybe that was what was wrong with Joffrey. They all thought her stupid, Tyrion didn't; he knew Sansa’s head was filled with more than air. She wasn't sure what Jaime thought; she hoped he didn't think of her as dim in the head. Sansa wiggled around on the soft mattress trying to find a cooler spot. She was so tired, everyday she was so tired. She just wanted to sleep.

 

“If you want to go to my brothers chambers I have no objections. It would be nice to have a nights rest without you jostling the bed the entire time.” Tyrion grumbled, his eyes still shut. Sansa rolled over onto her side to face Tyrion.

 

“I’m sorry.” Sansa whispered with a shaky voice. “I didn't know I kept you awake.”

 

Tyrion opened his eyes and gazed over at his wife. “There is no need to apologize Sansa. Now tell me what troubles you.” He demanded.

 

“I can’t—” Sansa’s voice broke off and she inhaled a deep breath to calm herself. “—I can’t stop thinking about what they did to them. I can see it in my head whenever I close my eyes. I wish that Joffrey hadn’t told me everything.”

 

“I’m sorry Sansa, truly. No one deserves to die in such a manner. What happened to them was nothing short of sadistic.” Tyrion genuinely meant the words he spoke and it came through clearly in his voice. A lone tear rolled down from Sansa’s eye, over the curve of her cheek only to be caught by one of Tyrion’s stubby fingers.

 

“Is this the first tear you have shed for your late mother and brother?” He asked her and Sansa gave a weak nod. “And it will be the only one.” She whispered back.

 

“Tyrion—” Sansa hesitated, could she really ask him this? But she had to, Sansa had pushed it to the back of her head when the question had first formed in her mind but it continued to incessantly rap at the base of her skull so as not to be easily forgotten.

“—did either you or Jaime have anything to do with what happened to them?”

 

Tyrion shook his head and gave her a solemn smile. “No Sansa.” That was all he said, completely void of any explanation, just a simple no. And Sansa believed him, she didn't even have to run it through her head, assess his tone of voice or search his eyes for any glimmers of deceit. Intricate words were always the ones that dripped with dishonesty.

 

Sansa gave him a small sad smile then rolled over onto her back and after a few moments of silence asked another question that had been playing on her mind. “What do you think Jaime wants from me?”

 

Tyrion turned back to Sansa and studied her profile, mulling her question over in his head. He didn't actually know; he knew what he wanted Jaime to see in her, loyalty, tenderness, the ability to love and only expecting to be loved in return, intelligence, honor. Though he had pushed his brother at her, Jaime had never divulged to Tyrion what exactly he saw in the girl that made him take a chance on her. Maybe Jaime didn't even know yet himself. All of this coursed through his head in seconds yet none of it would do, and there was only one thing he could think of to say that he knew Jaime would agree with, “Normality.” Sansa remained silent.

 

“I think maybe you should be asking him these questions rather than me.” Tyrion suggested breaking into what ever thoughts were running a muck in her mind. That got her attention; she turned her head to him, eyes a little watery, and one single tremble ran over her bottom lip that was so minute a less observant person would have failed to see it.

 

“I haven’t seen him since we went on that ride yesterday; he didn't even speak to me on our return to the city. I’m not sure what it is I have done.”

 

Tyrion sighed; his brother could be a fool. What did he think he was doing, withdrawing from the girl after he’d given Sansa her very first sexual experience? Had he not the sense to know that she had trusted him with something she had never given to another. His brother was a damn fool, but he suspected this had nothing to do with Sansa and everything to do with Jaime.

 

“I doubt you have done anything Sansa. Do you want my opinion?” He asked and Sansa gave him a quick, almost eager nod and he wondered if Jaime knew how much Sansa would be willing to give him if it meant she could place all her trust in him without any doubt plaguing her.

 

“If he has not come to you then go to him. Show him that you seek his company; show him that he is wanted, show him you care.” It sounded simple to him and it obviously sounded simple for Sansa because she sat up and flung the covers from her as she swung her legs off of the edge of the bed, then stilled.

 

“Oh, but it is getting late. His rooms will be locked.”

 

Tyrion gave her a wide grin, the whites of his eyes shinning in the darkness. “I have a key.”

 

*

 

Sansa crept down the corridor swathed in a black cloak, her tell-tale hair tucked into the hood as she kept close to the wall hidden in the shadows it provided. She couldn't stop the nervous butterflies that fluttered around her stomach. As soon as she had left her chambers she’d kept playing this horrible scenario over in her head that she would sneak into Jaime’s rooms only to find him in bed with some other woman, her stomach gave a small churn, or his sister. She gave her head a small shake as she reached the door that would lead to Jaime’s solar and Sansa placed the key into the lock and slowly turned it until she heard the small click. She opened the door only a fraction and slipped through the gap then locked the door behind her leaving the key in place.

 

Light from Jaime’s bedchamber spilled into the solar through the open doorway, no sound was coming from inside so Sansa tip-toed her way across the room avoiding any furniture that she could bump into. She pulled her hood back and stood in the doorway pushing herself up against the frame and she watched as Jaime just stood there in front of his looking glass in full Kings Guard armor staring at his reflection. He didn't notice her, obviously too engrossed in what ever it was he was thinking but at that moment all she really cared about was the look on his face.

 

It was a mix of lost and bewildered and she never thought that she would see Jaime look like such a lonely little boy. He glanced down at his golden hand and gave it a small sneer before he brought his left hand up and pushed his fingers under his pauldron and slipped something out from beneath it. Sansa craned her neck a little trying to get a better look and she watched as Jaime tried to balance it between the gap of the thumb and index finger of his golden hand while he fumbled at it with his left. She took a small step forward, curious as to what he had but his large hands hid it from her. Jaime stared down at it and traced one of his fingers over the object and Sansa took another small step forward.

 

He noticed this time, the small movement caught his eye and Jaime whipped his head in her direction and the object that he’d had precariously balanced in his golden hand drifted down to the floor. Sansa followed it with her eyes as it fell and once it had settled in place she finally moved towards him, her feet stopping at the edge of the parchment. She knelt down and picked it up, keeping her eyes locked on Jaime’s. She stood and let her eyes slide down to her hands where they fell upon the likeness she had drawn of him days ago. Sansa meet his eyes again and the slightest hint of a flush had come to grace Jaime’s cheeks, she held back her smile at the fact that Jaime had just blushed and with out saying a word, moved in front of him and tucked a corner of the parchment into the frame of the looking glass.

 

Sansa felt the lightest brush of his fingers down her back through her thin night shift and cloak before she turned back to him, her eyes traveled down him. He was still in his armor yet there was no squire here to help him remove it, but she knew better than to question him as to why that was. Instead she stepped around him, letting her front brush against his arm before she came to his back. Sansa reached up and un-clipped his white cloak at each shoulder and laid it over the back of a near by chair, she barely had to take four steps before she was back to him and her hands started to work at the buckles of his pauldron’s, first the ones beneath his upper arms then up to the buckles that attached them to his cuirass while Jaime stood silent and un-moving as he watched her through the looking glass.

 

Sansa glanced over at Jaime’s armor stand, a pauldron weighing down each one of her hands and without a second thought placed them down gently on the floor. She was willing to divest him of his weighty armor but definitely not willing to go through the tedious task of hefting it across the room to place it all on the wooden structure. He made no comment and continued to watch as she pulled at the buckles of his vambraces, they too were placed on the floor. Next Sansa plucked at each individual finger of his glove before pulling it from his hand, dropping it her fingers fluttered over to the straps at the sides of his cuirass as the glove hit the ground and pulled and tugged at the buckles until his plate fell open at his sides. Sansa then brought her hands up and worked on the last buckles at each of his shoulders as Jaime’s arms came around and encircled her, pulling her against the cold metal of his armor. The straps came free and the back plating of Jaime’s cuirass crashed to the floor and Sansa gave a small jump in his arms.

 

Jaime meet her eyes, those damn Tully blue eyes, just like her mothers, just liker her brothers. The guilt that Jaime had tried to rid himself of yesterday washed over him anew. Guilt for what he had done to the Stark boy, yet if he hadn’t done it he wouldn't be here with her now. Guilt for the way his son had Eddard executed after he’d been promised he could take the black. Guilt for the barbaric deaths of her mother and brother, in which if his father hadn’t extended his support to that old bastard Frey he would never have had the balls to go through with it. None of them deserved what they had been dealt.  He didn't want to feel that guilt, he wanted to lose himself in something so completely that he didn't have to think about every last little fucking thing he and his own had done to put scars on her soul. He wanted to lose himself in her, as fucked up as that was considering he should never have even put a single finger on her in the first place. But he had, and now it was too late to stop.

 

“How did you become so competent in removing a man’s armor?” She smirked at him, **smirked**. The truth was Sansa had studied that armor intently, every time she was being beaten she would go through and count and memorize where every buckle and clasp was, it helped distract her from the humiliation and pain she was being dealt but she wasn't about to tell Jaime that.

 

Sansa curled her fingers over the neck of Jaime’s cuirass and gave it a gentle tug. “A Lady should never divulge her well kept secrets Ser.” She replied while giving another tug and Jaime released her. The weight of the metal sent Sansa’s arms sagging and she had to stiffen them abruptly to stop the front of the cuirass from crashing to the ground as the back had. Jaime took it from her and placed it aside.

 

“You forgot my greaves.” He stated and Sansa looked down to find his calves still cased in metal. She dropped down to her knees, both her arms wrapping around one leg and then the other as she worked the buckles until they came undone. Jaime stared down at the top of her head until she glanced up at him and he couldn't stop the flashing image that passed through his head of her looking at him like that while she had those pretty pink lips of hers wrapped around his cock.

 

After placing his greaves with the rest of his armor Sansa reached up and unclasped the very last fixture and his coat parted slightly. She pushed one half aside and almost felt a little irritated when she saw the thick padded gambeson and the ends of his tunic poking out from beneath it.

 

“How many layers do you wear? Your worse than a woman.” Jaime snorted. “At least my layers serve a purpose. Now get up, you being down there is giving me sordid thoughts.” Sansa gave Jaime a quizzical look but did as he bid of her as he unfastened each clasp running down the center of his gambeson. She helped to tug it off from each arm before it joined the pile on the floor. Jaime plucked at the cords of Sansa’s cloak until it slipped from her shoulders leaving her in nothing but her shift then took her by the hips and pulled her with him as he backed up towards the bed, his eyes flickering over her.

 

“How did you get in here?” He asked as the back of his legs came in contact with the feathered mattress. He sat down and pulled Sansa down to straddle one if his legs; she seemed to stiffen slightly over him so he rubbed his left hand in soothing circles along the front of her hip, slowly moving it towards the firm roundness of her ass where he nudged her forward until her thigh came to push against his steadily stiffening cock.

 

Sansa glanced down at the hardness she could feel against her leg and saw a bulge at the crotch of Jaime’s breeches, she wanted to ask him why that happened so easily but swallowed the question back. She didn't want to ask things that made her seem foolish, maybe she should touch him this time, he must want her to if it felt as good for him as it had for her. Sansa locked her eyes with Jaime’s, her hand inching down the length of her thigh towards the now very prominent bulge.

 

“Tyrion gave me a key.” She replied as the tips of her fingers brushed lightly over him, she felt him twitch beneath her touch and her eyes widened with surprise. Jaime chuckled; it seemed his little wolf’s curiousness was outweighing her uncertainty when it came to that particular part of his anatomy. He found her inexperience endearing, it meant that he was the first man to have his way with her and he felt his possessiveness rare its head at the thought of someone else ever touching her the way he did, he wanted Sansa to be his and only his.

 

Jaime started to pull at the ribbon that laced the bodice of Sansa’s shift together and her hand came up to wrap around his wrist, stilling his movements. “You have been avoiding me Jaime.” Sansa accused quietly.

 

He grinned at her, “Did you miss me?” Sansa arched an eyebrow, “Did you miss me?” She asked in return.

 

Jaime’s grinned widened; he had gone back to plucking at the ribbon and he was pulling the end of it through the very last eyelet. He pushed the material to either side revealing her breasts to him. They were on the smaller end of the scale but were creamy, firm and pert, topped off with small pink nipples that had pebbled and now stood erect. Jaime’s hand snaked around Sansa’s back and gathered the ends of her hair in his hand and gave a gentle tug making her back arch into him and her breasts rise higher. He lowered his head and ran his nose along the underside of one and gave another gentle tug to her hair eliciting a small moan from Sansa. He grazed his teeth then flicked his tongue over her nipple.

 

“Thoroughly.” He whispered against her skin before taking the tip of her breast into the warmth of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know that I'm a horrible person ending it where I have but It will continue on in the next chapter. I have been a little sick and wanted to get something posted before the weekend. I hope to have the next chapter posted in the next couple of days or so. Thanks for reading and commenting, I really appreciate it.
> 
> Oh and yes Jaime's quarters in the wrong tower but he is the Lord Commander and he can sleep where ever the hell he wants. And I have made the Tower of the Hand A LOT bigger with way more rooms and what not but how else am i supposed to fit all these people in =)
> 
> Yeah, no idea what to call this chapter.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI, I'm back! I'm so sorry, sometimes my life is absolute rubbish and boring and I have all this time on my hands and then everything just happens at once and I become extremely busy. So I have busted this chapter out today to keep you all going. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, your support is greatly appreciated and you make me smile until my cheeks hurt!
> 
> I will definitely try not to leave it this long between updates again and it didn't help that I had idea's for another story romping around in my head distracting me so every time I sat down to write this chapter I couldn't get those thoughts out of my head until I'd gotten them all down, ah sigh. But our favorite King's wedding will be coming up in the next couple of chapters, joy!
> 
> Anyway hope you enjoy and thank you again! x

Jaime made a trail of kisses along the valley between the swells of Sansa’s breasts, his hand wrapping her silken curls around his fist allowing him a firmer hold as he gently pulled until he felt her body strain with the awkward positioning. Sansa’s stomach pushed firmly against his, hip bones digging into him and her ribs jutting out beneath her skin, clearly outlined through the delicate thin linen she wore. He leaned over her, closing his eyes to any unpleasant sight and inhaled the sweet citrus scent that always seemed to linger on her skin. She should push him away he thought, she shouldn't be letting him take any of these liberties with her. Instead Sansa released a small whimper as Jaime enclosed his mouth over the breast that had remained neglected. Teeth scraped and his tongue swirled over the taut little bud and he felt her push herself into him even more, her thigh rubbing against his throbbing cock.

He groaned against her and Sansa felt the vibrations of it run through her chest and dance along her spine; he was trying to distract her and gods he was doing exceedingly well, she had wanted answers and instead she found herself being coaxed into silence by Jaime’s clever mouth trailing burning paths along her body. Sansa ignored the pressure on her scalp and the uncomfortable bend of her back and concentrated on the nip and pull of Jaime’s teeth as her nipples became tight and ached with sensitivity, every single nerve in that tiny little bud standing to attention.

“Get on the bed.” Jaime commanded as he relinquished his hold on Sansa and let the locks of her hair unravel from his hand. He gave one last suckle to her nipple before he straightened himself and the chill of the air ghosted over Sansa where his warmth had covered her. 

She gripped Jaime’s shoulders, righting herself before pushing off of his leg. Taking a step back from him, Sansa glanced at the bed, hesitating now she didn't have the direct physical distraction of him, because if she was going to be honest, there was nothing about Jaime that she didn't find to be a disruption. He had been avoiding her for no apparent reason, he had blatantly avoided her question and she knew that any answer would be hard to come by. Sansa wanted answers, she needed answers because although she may not have shown it to him, his shun had hurt and in the back of her head all she could hear was the bare whisper of words, “Tears aren't your only weapon,” over and over again.

Jaime watched her; an attractive flush had come to tinge her exposed flesh, her hands entwined against her stomach and her little white teeth had sunk into her plump bottom lip. Her breasts were still exposed to him and his eyes lingered there, tracing the slight curves with his eyes and he found them to be rather pretty in a way, not generally an adjective he would usually use to describe a woman’s assets but that was the word that had popped into his head none the less. He could see the small trembles that ran through Sansa’s arms as she mulled over what ever it was that had taken over her mind and once again he found himself on the outskirts of anxiety at the thought of her denying him.

Sansa straightened her spine and looked Jaime directly in the eyes and as if near to a minute hadn’t passed in complete silence, she inclined her head towards the bed and turned his command back on him, “You get on the bed.”

Jaime arched an eyebrow as he stood and pulled his tunic over his head, so his little wolf wanted to exert some power over him, he could allow that. Sansa deserved it after all, there weren't many things left in her life that remained under her control and the least he could do was yield to her commands. Jaime dropped his tunic and toed off his boots before he laid himself down on the bed and looked up at Sansa expectantly, a barely there smirk playing along his lips, “Well? I’m on the bed.”

Yes, yes he was on the bed, gods, what was she supposed to do now? Sansa took small steps towards Jaime and stopped when her knees pressed into the mattress and she froze, feeling completely inadequate at this very moment as she gazed down at him, her eyes taking in every bump and dip of the hard, rigid muscle that mapped his chest and torso. How had she ever thought young pretty boys like Ser Loras and Joffrey attractive? Sansa crawled onto the mattress and settled back on her heels beside Jaime; in this light she could see the pale scars that interrupted the perfect expanse of tawny skin the same way hers did on her back and she reached out and traced the smooth lines with her fingertips. They ranged from tiny nicks to thin slits and jagged gashes and Jaime watched Sansa silently as her fingers tickled along his side, exploring the evidence of a life time spent brandishing a blade. 

“You have a lot of scars,” Sansa meet Jaime’s eyes. “Do they make you feel, well, less attractive?” She asked.

Jaime frowned at her, “You are asking a man that has lost a hand whether or not a few scars makes him feel ugly?”

Sansa gnawed at her bottom lip and gave Jaime a small shrug of her shoulders, “I’m sorry, I forgot. About your hand I mean.”

“You forgot that I've only one hand?” Jaime asked incredulously.

Sansa pulled herself away from Jaime’s body and started to twist the thin material of her night shift in her hands, “I just don’t really think about it, nor notice it I guess.” It was the truth, Sansa rarely even gave any thought to the fact that Jaime had only one hand and the only time that it registered was when she felt the coolness of metal against her rather than the heat of his flesh and she definitely didn't find him less attractive for any of his physical mars, she merely asked because she felt less beautiful now that the skin enveloping her own body wasn't perfect and wondered if he’d felt the same way about himself.

Jaime closed his hand around Sansa’s forearm and tugged; she lurched forward to find herself sprawled out over Jaime and blew the hair out of her face before attempting to push herself back up. She straddled him as he’d had her do the night in her own bedchambers, but instead of settling upon his thighs she slowly lowered herself down over the hardness between his legs and gave him a small, nervous smile.

“Do you find my physical flaws hideous Sansa?” Jaime asked as he lifted his hips and ground his cock against her, trying to relieve some of the pressure that continued to build there. This was going to be absolute torture, not only was he going to have to lay there for the most part and grit his teeth as he let her explore at her own pace but he was pretty positive that once she got her courage up enough he’d probably be the equivalent of a green boy and would meet his release in an embarrassingly short amount of time. He’d been far too long without any kind of sexual fulfillment and was thankful that Sansa wouldn't know any better.

“No, I don’t. Would you—’’ Sansa paused and swallowed, her mouth felt so dry, “—do you find such things ugly?”

Jaime raised is hand and ran his fingertips slowly over each bump of her ribs below her right breast, down over the con-caved stretch of her stomach and came to rest on the hipbone that protruded out more than it should have, “Ugly? No. Worrisome, yes, but none of it will ever detract from how beautiful you are.”

Sansa smiled at him warmly, he may not have known to what she had been referring to exactly but his answer had been very pleasing none the less and the fact that he hadn’t been repulsed by her diminishing figure instilled within her a small bout of self-confidence. Sansa curled her hands over Jaime’s shoulders and leaned into him, flattening her breasts against his chest and brushing her lips lightly over his, “That was a good, honest answer Ser Jaime; I think you deserve a reward.”

Jaime smiled against the softness of Sansa lips as her hand glided from his shoulder and trailed along the veins that ran down the inside of his arm then down his side, making the muscles of his abdomen contract at her tickling feather light touches. Sansa lifted her lower body off of Jaime and rose to her knees, her hand sliding beneath her to cup Jaime through his breeches and he felt her hand shake as she hesitantly and far too lightly for his own sanity, rubbed the palm of her hand up the length of him. He let out a small hiss of breath as her touch became more firm, and a small agitated sigh followed when Sansa stilled her movements and lifted her head from where she had been delicately nibbling at his lips.

“Am I doing it wrong?” She asked, her cheeks flaming as red as her hair. Jaime cleared his throat and gave her a pointed stare, torture; he fucking knew this was going to be torture. He pulled his hand from where he had entangled it in her hair and brushed his thumb back and forth over one of her stiff little nipples, “Only because you stopped.”

Sansa gently pressed her top teeth against her bottom lip trying to hide from him the smile that widened her lips. Jaime lifted his head and gave her a chaste kiss, his tongue barely flicking out to run over her teeth before he settled back down and closed his eyes, giving a small encouraging buck of his hips against Sansa’s hand. His eyes popped back open when instead of continuing her ministrations, Sansa pushed against his chest and scooted further down his body and planted her ass down on his thighs just above his knees. She sat up straight, one of her hands clenched his thigh tightly and the other started to pull at the leather cord that laced the crouch of his breaches together. 

Jaime watched her but Sansa kept her eyes on her hand, her teeth still pushing into her lip, “Jaime?” He grunted in response as he waited, his teeth clenched together trying to hold back the need to tell her to hurry up and get on with it. The leather cord was loosened enough and Sansa tucked the fingers of both of her hands over the waist of his breeches ready to tug them down, her head lowered, she looked up at him through her lashes. Her heart was beating so rapidly she thought that it might burst through her chest, “Why have you been avoiding me?” Sansa murmured.

The manipulative little she-wolf, he couldn't help but feel a little stunned. Tyrion was right, what had Jaime done to her? “I think the price for that information may be above your means, my lady.”

Sansa glanced down at the bulge in Jaime’s breeches, his words from earlier about how her being on her knees before him and it giving him wicked thoughts ran through her mind. She cocked her head to the side, it had confused her but now she could recall a conversation she had over-heard between Theon and Robb about how one of the… ladies from the tavern had put her mouth on Theon down there and had licked and sucked. Sansa blushed at the memory but felt her resolve settle, she could do that. How hard could it possibly be? Theon had seemed to enjoy it and Robb had laughed and patted Theon on the back and agreed with him. A coy smile spread over Sansa’s lips, the thought of doing this to Jaime made her stomach flutter in nervousness but it also made her feel elated in a strange sort of way.

She tugged at Jaime’s breeches and they lowered by an inch to reveal the beginnings of a patch of dark golden, coarse curled hairs, “I’m confident I can pay the required charges Ser.” Her voice wavered slightly; Jaime heard it and he let out a snort.

Sansa gave him a small scowl, she wasn't sure what annoyed her more, the fact that he had no confidence in her ability to please him or that her own lack of confidence shone through in the weakness of her voice. The need to run from that room was felt by Sansa very strongly at that moment; she swallowed hard and instead tightened her hold on Jaime’s breeches and drew them down slowly, her eyes never leaving his. Jaime lifted his hips enough for Sansa to be able to lower his breeches part way down his thighs and he stared back at her, surprised by her actions but not letting it show on his face.

Sansa’s hand came into contact with her knees and she let go of her hold on Jaime’s breeches, hesitating to look down at him. She had seen Jaime naked before but it had all happened so fast and she had never seen a mans… manhood before. A small nervous giggle erupted up from Sansa’s throat at her own thoughts, oh gods. She took in a breath before she glanced down and her lips parted into an ‘o’. That was bigger than she thought it would be; how was she even going to fit him in her mouth? It twitched and she looked back up at Jaime, whom had a wide smirk plastered on his face and a challenging look gleaming in his eyes. Sansa hiked up the skirt of her night shift as she moved her left leg to settle between Jaime’s before shuffling down him further. She let go of the linen and keeping her eyes on Jaime’s, let her hand trail up the length of the inside of his leg. He felt tense beneath her hand and she could hear his breath start to quicken slightly as she came closer to her destination.

Sansa’s fingertips brushed against something soft and she heard Jaime pull in a breath, she looked down to see them resting against the sack that sat below his manhood. She smiled, he had liked that and she gently started to massage her fingers over the smooth skin as she made her way up to wrap her hand around the base of him. There was a tiny bead of pearly moisture sitting at the tip of his length and while looking back up and locking her eyes with Jaime’s, Sansa leaned forward until her bottom lip lightly pressed against him and she flicked her tongue out, swiping up the tiny drop with the very tip of her tongue. 

Jaime’s hips jerked up bumping the head of his cock against Sansa’s lips, he had under-estimated her and he knew that he would tell her anything she wanted to hear if it meant she would open up those pretty pink lips and take him into her mouth. Her tongue flicked out again, and even though it was done awkwardly it didn't stop how good it felt to have it twirling around the tip of his cock.

Jaime grasped the bed cover in his left hand, “Guilt,” he blurted without thinking. “No one in your family deserved to leave the land of the living in such a dishonorable way and I couldn't look at you knowing that my family played a part in all of it. I’m sorry.”

Sansa had frozen over him, her eyes stung as she held back the tears that threatened to flow free but she also felt warmth come to flutter in her chest, he’d felt guilty even though none of it was his direct doing and she adored him for it. Sansa couldn't hide the redness of her eyes from Jaime so she gave him a small smile before bowing her head and placing a light kiss on the tip of him. Jaime watched her, watched as she parted her lips and slowly enveloped his throbbing cock with the warmth of her mouth and his hand came up to bury in the strands of her hair, concentrating on not thrusting himself deeper into her. 

Sansa suckled as she curled her tongue around him, she really had no idea if she was doing this correctly and listened intently to the sound of Jaime’s breathing, trying to gain some indication on whether or not he was enjoying it. He seemed to be; she could hear his breath hitch as she increased the intensity of her sucking and lowered herself over him, trying to take more of him into her mouth. She gagged when she felt him hit the back of her throat, letting out a rush of breath through her nose as she slid her mouth back up his length and glanced up at Jaime, her face burning with embarrassment. He gave her a small smile and started to massage the back of her head with his fingers in soothing circular motions.

Sansa renewed her efforts; her tongue swirled and coiled around him as she slid her mouth up and down, hollowing her cheeks and sucking as she moved further up his length, her hand that she had wrapped around him starting to follow in the movements of her mouth. Jaime was tense beneath her, his body held rigid until he let his head fall back and his hips rose in small bucks, his breathing heavy and his fingers no longer massaging but gripping the back of her head tightly. Sansa smiled as she lowered her head and unsteadily balancing herself on Jaime’s leg, brought her hand up to stroke at the soft sack that Jaime had seemed to like her doing before. He let out a moan and tightened his grip on her, his hips rising more forcibly and Sansa increased her pace as she sucked, careful not to let him slide too far into her mouth as she felt the softness she massaged with her fingers harden and draw away from her touch. 

She glanced up with questioning eyes and tried to pull away as she felt Jaime start to pulse in her mouth and he let out a throaty groan as he thrust up, his hand pushing her head back down. Her eyes widened and she stilled with her lips clamped around him as warm streams of fluid flooded into her and started to dribble out from the corner of her mouth. Sansa swallowed and she scrunched her nose at the odd salty taste before sliding her mouth up slowly and gently releasing Jaime’s manhood from its enclosure. She pulled her hand away from him to wipe the back of it along her chin and rose up onto her knees and crawled her way up Jaime’s body until her face came to hover above his. He opened his eyes, meeting hers and with a small sense of pride swelling in her chest Sansa smiled down at him, “Hello,” she whispered. 

Jaime’s face cracked into a grin as he reached up and pushed Sansa’s hair back to tuck behind her ear, “Hello,” he replied before wrapping both his arms around her and drawing her down to cradle against his chest.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! A new chapter for my lovelies! So It's 4 am right now and I stayed up really late to write this (I am going to be such a slack parent tomorrow, oh wait, that would be today. But movies all day long!) so I apologize for any errors, I will have another go through it some time....today.
> 
> Nothing left to say except I hope you all enjoy and have a fantastic day/night! =D 
> 
> Actually, I have edited chapters 1-6. Punctuation has been improved and I have also added/removed some small things here and there. I kind of felt like I was making Sansa far too accomplished at everything, singing/drawing etc so those things in-particular have been changed.

She’d been partially woken from sleep, the fog in her mind lifting just enough for her to recognize the sound of the muffled clang of metal banging together. Sansa pulled the bed-cover tighter around her ears only for it to be gently pulled back down and replaced with the softness and warmth of familiar lips. She kept her eyes clenched shut, fighting the tug of complete wakefulness as those lips brushed over her cheek, made a trail to her hairline then caressed over the shell of her ear.

 

“Eat,” was the singular word whispered as those lips pressed against the curve of her neck. And then they were gone, the bed-cover tucked firmly around her as she once again felt her body lighten, the fog thicken, and she started to drift back into dreams.

 

 She awoke again to the sound of the continuous clearing of a woman’s throat. Sansa stiffened beneath the bed-cover. Prayed silently to the gods that she wouldn’t open her eyes to find Cersei hovering above, lips pulled back in a cruel smile to find Sansa in her brother’s bed. She parted an eyelid and was greeted by the sunlight bouncing off of highly polished armor. Her next eye opened and was grateful to not find a sneering Cersei, but a frowning Brienne. Sansa pushed up to sit and the woman’s eyes traveled from her head down to where the bed-cover pooled around her hips, her frown deepening when her gaze lingered on the bare shoulder that was revealed by the lose neckline of Sansa’s shift. She consciously pulled her shift up to cover herself and Brienne's lips pursed together into a thin line.

 

“You are to break your fast in Ser Jaime’s solar, Lady Sansa. I will wait in there for you to join me,” she spoke stiffly before turning on the heel of her boot and striding from the room.

 

Sansa slouched back against the pillow, fought the pout that wanted to take hold of her lips and took a deep breath. She could smell him; his scent was infused in her hair, skin and the bed linens. Sansa closed her eyes and inhaled again, leather and the oil he used to rub into it, sweat and the musky scent that had lingered around them as she had pleasured him with her mouth. And then there were the hints of ginger and sandalwood, warm aromas that made her feel like never leaving the comfort that his bed offered. But she could almost sense Brienne’s frown through the wall, a frown reminiscent of the one her mother used to give her and strangely, there was comfort in that as well. With a reluctant sigh Sansa left the bed and briefly searched for a robe to wrap up in before making her way to the spread of food that had been laid out for her.

 

Brienne sat stiffly on one side of the table, her gaze once again falling to Sansa’s shoulder as she sat opposite her. She started to pick through the fresh fruit, placing the juiciest looking slices of orange and apple on her plate before remembering Jaime’s whispered word as she ran a hand down her side and felt the protruding inner-structure of her body. She looked at the selection of cold meats, breads and cheeses and smiled. It had been so long since she truly had an appetite for such things but she found, that on this morning, the thought of filling her stomach to be appealing rather than nauseating. She placed a slice of each on her plate, not much more than she would normally eat but she didn’t want the extra nourishment to be a shock to her system. Sansa remembered a time when she was young and had become ill to the point that the only thing she could consume for three days was water. When she was finally able to keep solids down she’d begged Robb to sneak her up extra food from the kitchens. He had indulged her of course, like he always had, and she’d brought all that food back up to splatter over his boots within minutes of stuffing it into her mouth.

 

Sansa giggled out loud at the memory, the look of shock and then dismay on Robb’s face enough for her to find humor in her reminiscing. Brienne shot a sharp look across the table and she smothered her laugh with a slice of bread, taking a sizable bite from the freshly baked goodness as the Lady of Tarth stood and folded her arms across her chest.

 

“I’m going to ask you something, Lady Sansa, and I do not expect it to be taken lightly,” she unfolded her arms and placed a hand on each hip. “What is your relationship with Ser Jaime?”

 

Sansa’s fingers came up to fiddle with the neckline of her borrowed robe. Had she really just asked her that? What was she supposed to say? That she was technically committing adultery with her brother-in-law but it didn’t matter because her husband was fine with it? Her cheeks heated, embarrassment flooding her body for the first time over how she was behaving with Jaime. This was not how her mother had raised her; this was not how a respectable lady of House Stark was to behave.

 

Her voice came out stronger than she expected as she looked up Brienne. “What is your reason for wanting to know?”

 

Brienne seemed to falter a little then, a shallow breath passed from between her lips as she ran a hand through her short locks of blond hair. She sat, legs spread wide and hands dangling between them. “I promised your mother I’d keep you safe. I swore an oath to her, the same as Ser Jaime and I feel it is part of my duty to question any of your actions that may put you in harms way.”

 

“You think that my having a close relationship with Jaime would put me in harms way? He has done nothing but protect me ever since we came into contact with one another,” Sansa replied, sitting straighter in her chair and her hands balled into fists atop the table. She had thought that Brienne held respect for Jaime, was she really insinuating that he would hurt her?

 

“You’re right, he has. But there are difficult circumstances at play that you need not be caught in the middle of. Please understand Sansa that I only speak of such things because I hold your safety above everything else. I would not like to see harm come to you, whether it be an injury to the body or to the heart.”

 

Sansa’s eyes fluttered away from Brienne’s; she did not want to see the way they pleaded with her to understand. She liked the way Jaime had made her feel over the passing weeks, like she was alive again. He had slowly chipped away at her walls, made a hole that was just big enough for him to pull himself through and reach her. But she could now feel the that hole closing when faced with such a startling reality.

 

Sansa clenched the neckline of the robe until her knuckles turned white, her eyes locked on the edge of the table. “You think that he would choose another over me? I’m not stupid, I may look like I’m full of air but I’m not. Do you not think that I haven’t thought of that happening? That I didn’t play that exact outcome in my head over and over again?” Sansa darted her eyes back to Brienne, clenched the robe tighter until she could feel her nails digging into her palms through the silk. “It taints you, you know? When you spend enough time in a place like Kings Landing, it leaves a black mark on your soul. It has on mine and it has on Jaime’s. Maybe that’s why even though I know what he could do to me, I choose to trust him. Who better to protect me from the Lannister’s than the Lion of Lannister himself? Life in Kings Landing is a game; Jaime likes to think that he doesn’t play it but he does. It isn’t until you pass through the gates of this city that _maybe_ you can stop playing. I want that, for Jaime and me.”

 

“Do you love him?” Brienne asked.

 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, not yet. But I care about him, and I could love him even with it being against my better judgment, against what would have been my family’s better judgment. If it meant that I could be happy I’d love him better than anyone else ever could,” Sansa replied, her hand un-clenching finally as she let out a light laugh and Brienne gave her a curious frown.

 

“You know, Jaime was the first Lannister that I came to hate. He confronted my father, attacked him in the middle of the street. Men I had grown up around, that had protected me, were killed and my father injured. I thought Jaime was disgusting. I was told at the time that he had done it for Tyrion, because my mother had taken him captive. I now find it hard to fault him for that. I wish that I had been brave enough to do such a thing for my sister. Now she is most likely dead.”

 

Brienne extended an arm across the table and gave Sansa’s shoulder a small squeeze. “You don’t know that Sansa, she could still be alive.”

 

Sansa gave her a curt nod as she slipped a slice of orange between her lips and started to chew. Brienne sighed; she had not intended to upset the young woman. She wasn’t entirely sure if she could ever approve of Jaime and Sansa’s relationship, especially with Sansa already being married. The age difference was nothing unusual yet she found it odd as Jaime had always expressed a dislike for younger woman. At sixteen Sansa was of age, but not in the category she would have thought Jaime’s interests lent towards. Though who was she to judge? Maybe the two could find happiness together. The Gods new that Jaime needed to find that with a woman that wasn’t his sister and after everything Sansa had been put through, she deserved it just as much as he.

 

Brienne looked out the window, estimated the time by the suns position in the sky and turned back to Sansa. “I suggest that you hurry if you want enough time to get ready for the wedding.”

 

Sansa’s eyes bulged a little and she dropped the cheese she was holding. “Pardon me?”

 

“Our Kings wedding, Sansa. You’d already missed breaking your fast and the gift giving in the Queen’s ballroom. If you don’t hurry you will be late to the ceremony.”

 

“That’s today! Gods, how could I have forgotten?” She knew exactly how she had forgotten, she had already assessed that Jaime could be _very_ distracting.

 

Sansa stood abruptly, her chair skidding backwards and crashing to the floor as she made a panicked dash into the bedchamber. Gown, she needed a gown. How was she to get ready when she was in Jaime’s rooms? She couldn’t just leave them in nothing but the night shift and cloak she had arrived in last night and risk being seen. She ran back to Brienne, tripped on the hem of her shift and stumbled back into the solar.

 

“Brienne, I need you to go to my chambers and retrieve one of my gowns. My handmaidens should have everything laid out waiting for me, just tell them that I’m getting ready in the Maidens Vault and I will not be in need of their assistance.”

 

Brienne cracked a small smile at Sansa’s alarmed state before leaving to do as she was bid. It was times like these that she was glad that she didn’t worry about such frivolous things such as gowns and hair.

 

*

 

There was something to be said for people thinking that you were dim in the head. Sansa could watch them for hours and they would assume that she was daydreaming about epic tales of love or the next gown she would be having made, when in reality she was studying them. Taking note of their body language and facial expressions when they thought nobody was watching. She caught glimpses of distaste on their faces as their bodies recoiled back slightly while they watched their drunk King make a fool of himself, throwing a handful of coins at the musician like he wasn’t any better than your common tavern loiterer. The ceremony itself had been tense, the claps and cheers ringing out hollow after the High Septon had united the pair as husband and wife. There was a part of her that felt sorry for Margaery but most of all she was filled with relief that it wasn’t her standing before the great statues of the Father and Mother beside Joffrey.

 

She had stood between Tyrion and Jaime as the nobility had filed out from the Great Sept, her husband at her front and his brother at her back. Jaime had run his thumb down the back of her arm, plucked at the net that held her hair in place and lent closer. “Your hair looks very becoming pinned up like this,” he’d whispered in her ear.

 

Sansa’s chest, neck and face had burnt with her blush as she darted her eyes from person to person to see if any had noticed the interaction. She had ignored him of course, refused to take his bait. It was most likely why he refused to meet her eyes now as he walked between the tables that seated the guests. That was until the two dwarven jousters had entered the throne room to provide everyone with their entertainment. She had watched, back rigid with eyes and face blank as they mocked the murder of Robb, her brother that had put all his efforts into teaching her how to ride a horse no matter how much she lacked the skill. The boy that had promised to catch her when she’d climbed a tree for the first time and was too scared to come back down, who had worn with pride the doublet with her very first attempt of a dire wolf sewn on the breast even though it had looked awful. She felt sick, the food and wine churning in her stomach and making bile rise as her chest clenched and throat became tight with un-shed tears while her heart drummed out a fast and erratic beat. She felt Tyrion’s stubby hand cover hers, the touch surprising her enough for her gaze to be pulled away from the performance.

 

Sansa looked around, heard the laughter of Joffrey and Cersei as she noted the look of shock on some of the guests faces. Others looked upon the spectacle with the same blank expression as hers and then there was Jaime, standing still for the first time since the feast had begun and openly staring at her. His jaw was clenched, the veins in his neck pushing against the skin and his fist clenched by his side. Her gaze didn’t waver from his and she found some strength in it, was able to block all of it out as she concentrated on him and only him. It was almost as if she was waking from sleep as she became aware of the conversation happening beside her, the steady tone of Tyrion’s voice replying to some comment that had been shouted from Joffrey’s mouth, obnoxious and full of the sneer the King was known for.

 

Sansa broke her gaze from Jaime, turned her head to see Joffrey tipping her his chalice of wine over Tyrion’s head. The crimson liquid soaked into his hair, small drops coming to splatter her face as the wine ran down the back of Tyrion’s neck to dampen his silken doublet.

 

“Would you look at that Uncle, my chalice appears to be empty. I think I shall name you my cup-bearer for the remainder of the feast.”

 

Joffrey slammed the chalice down on the table before Tyrion, a smile spreading wide across his face as the smaller man pushed wet curls away from his eyes. “I do not think, my King, that I am worthy of the privilege of such a task as your cup-bearer.”

 

Joffrey froze, his eye twitching in barely controlled anger as he lent in towards his Uncle. “It is not meant to be a privilege,” he spat. “Now Uncle, you will fill my cup and you will it now.” He pounded his fist against the table hard enough for the chalice to fall from where it was balanced on the edge, the ting, ting, ting of metal on ground filling the silence of the throne room as the chalice rolled towards Sansa beneath the table.

 

She slid from her chair, knelt to retrieve the chalice and placed it in front of Tyrion along with a jug of wine. Tyrion filled the chalice near to the brim before handing it back to Joffrey whom wore a satisfied smirk on his lips. He took deep gulps from the wine as he cradled the chalice in his hands and then pulled away almost panting for breath. Joffrey grinned again, ran his tongue over his teeth as she brought the chalice back over Tyrion’s head, slowly tilting it as if to pour the remaining liquid as he’d done previously before his movements were stilled by the clapping of his wife’s hands and her excited exclamation.

 

“Oh look my dear! The pie has arrived!” Margaery cried out.

 

Joffrey was easily distracted from his current course, his attention switching from Tyrion to Margaery immediately. He placed the chalice down on the table, walked over to her as Ser Ilyn Payne raised his long sword above his head and brought it down in a smooth arc, slicing through the pastry and releasing the doves from inside. The awkward sound of out-of-beat clapping vibrated off the walls and high ceiling of the throne room as Joffrey strode forth and accepted a plate of pie from a servant. He dug into it with his fingers, stuffing portions of it into his mouth and laughing as he chewed, sending spittle and chunks of un-chewed pie to mess his doublet. He then turned towards Tyrion, demanded more wine for the pie was dry and grinned as he watched the slow gait of his Uncle as he brought Joffrey his chalice.

 

Joffrey drank, took slow gulps of wine which dribbled out from the corners of his mouth before handing it back to Tyrion and continued on with filling his mouth with large handfuls of the ceremonial pie. Tyrion took a step back to return to his seat as Joffrey coughed, chunks of pie spraying out to litter the front of Magarey’s gown. She laughed, brushed the mess off with her hand as she smiled at Joffrey, the smile soon fading as he let out another heaving cough and clutched his throat as his face turned red.

 

“Gods, somebody help him!” Magarey screamed. “He’s choking!”

 

Joffrey gasped for air as he stumbled backwards, his short nails scratching at his throat as his coughing came out in great choking bouts while blood started to make a steady trickle from his nose and his skin begun to turn almost purple. Sansa stood, her chest heaving as Cersei reached her son. Joffrey collapsed, his head rebounding off of the ground as it made contact and his mother fell to her knees. She gathered Joffrey in her arms, screaming for help as Jaime dropped down to the ground on the other side of their son. Blood bubbled from Joffrey’s mouth as Jaime turned the Kings head to the side, shoved his fingers in his son’s mouth and tried to clear the airway.

 

Nobility scrambled from their seats in a panic, clambering over one another and pushing others out of the way in their haste to leave the throne room. Sansa took a step forward as fingers curled around her wrist and gave a gentle tug. She turned, trying to pull her arm free as she came to face the man Joffrey had made his fool.

 

“Lady Sansa, you must come with me.”

 

She scowled at him as she again tried to free her arm from his grip but he held tighter. “Please, you must leave now. It is not safe for you here; there is no one left that can protect you.”

 

Sansa yanked her arm with more force than she thought capable of and freed herself from Ser Dontos’ firm hold. “Ser Jaime protects me,” she stated defiantly and a questioning frown came to crinkle his brow.

 

“Please Lady Sansa,” he begged. “Please come with me. I can deliver you to safety.”

 

She hesitated, bit into her bottom lip as she glanced back at the man she had laid her trust in. No, she couldn’t leave. Ser Dontos was wrong, she was safe with Jaime. She turned back to the disgraced knight and shook her head firmly as she stepped back until her legs bumped against the table.

 

He reached for her, bringing his arm up and then let drop back down to hang loosely at his side. “Your hairnet, you must get rid of it. Give it to me.”

 

“What? Why?” Sansa asked as she pushed herself so close to the table that she was now perched on the edge of it. He stared at her, sadness coming to cloud his eyes.

 

“It would be worth a good amount of gold. I need gold to leave the city my lady,” he answered halfheartedly.

 

She weighed his words only to discover that she didn’t care. Her fingers plucked at the pins that kept the hairnet in place and then handed it to Ser Dontos who turned and ran from the throne room. She turned to the scene behind her just in time to see Joffrey take his last breaths and raise his hand to point a condemning finger Tyrion. Cersei let out an ear splitting scream as she clung to her son and the chalice that Tyrion still held dropped from his hand to the ground, the remaining wine spilling out over the stone.

 

Sansa’s body trembled with shock as it dawned on her that Joffrey was _dead_ , her hands clutching at the edge of the table for balance as Cersei screeched for the Kingsguard to arrest Tyrion for Joffrey’s murder. Jaime stood, looking to intervene as Ser Meryn took Tyrion into his custody but froze when Cersei pointed with a trembling hand, the tip of her index finger inline with Sansa’s chest.

 

“And the little Stark wolf too.”

 

Jaime turned away from his brother then, took a step towards Sansa with an objection on his lips as Lord Tywin stepped in front of him. She gaped; mouth open wide as her arms were pulled roughly behind her back and tears came to burn at her eyes. They dragged her through the throne room and Sansa meet the fearful eyes of little Tommen, huddled up beneath the head table and watching her. The whimper that had traveled up her throat stayed trapped in her mouth, the tears that wanted to fall were blinked back. No, she would not cry. Sansa smiled a small sad smile that she directed at Tommen. He crawled out from beneath the table, his gaze locked on hers as she was pulled through the great archways. The last thing she saw before being blinded by the brightness of the day was Tommen returning her smile with one as equally as sad as her own.  


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooo.
> 
> So, I just wanted to apologise to all of you that have been waiting for an update. It's not exactly something I want to blabber about over the internet to a bunch of people but I came out of a really bad relationship in January and it has taken a while to get myself back on track. So I just wanted to thank everyone for your patience, as well as your continued enthusiasm and support and I'm really sorry that your comments got deleted along with the old chapter sixteen, but I know of no other way of editing a chapter that would give you all a notification.
> 
> So this chapter has been reworked (hopefully more pleasing to everyone that read the original-original chapter sixteen *wink-wink-cough*). The scene for Sansa is pretty much the same but has been edited and has hopefully helped with the flow. The Jaime scene though is entirely NEW--Yay! I hope you all enjoy and now that I have finally gotten back into writing I hope to be updating on a more regular basis, that is if my schedule allows it.
> 
> Thank you to all once again! Oh, and I'm not sure if my writing style is the same as it used to be (I have no idea really), but I hope it isn't too jarring if it has changed.

“You’re quieter than usual,” she remarked, her fingers disrupting the surface of the cold pool of water. Jon gave a brief chuckle. “Well, we are in the godswood. Besides, I think you may only be humouring my company.”

Sansa looked across at her brother with a frown tugging at her lips; lifting her fingers from the water and flicked them in his direction, sending icy droplets of water to spray his face. His eyes clenched shut and his head jerked back as he brought a hand to wipe the offending liquid away, his sister giggling as she shifted to rest back against the weirwood tree.

“What do you mean by that?” she inquired.

“Don’t tell me that you can’t feel his presence here?” She could, and the longer that she hid herself away with Jon the stronger she felt the pull to be near him. But she ignored it, the same as she ignored the sound of snapping twigs in the distance.

“Maybe it’s time to move forward, Sansa. Time to forgive the past,” Jon suggested.

Could she do that? Could she leave the unconditional protection and comfort that Jon provided her? She knew it would have to be one or the other, but why did she have to choose? Couldn’t she have them both with her, her family and her… and  _him_?

Sansa looked away from her brother, kept her gaze level to the ground as she ran her hand along the rough base of the weirwood. “But if he finds me, you will have to leave.”

He shrugged his shoulders and gave her a small smile even though she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Would that be such a bad thing?” Jon asked.

Sansa didn’t know. She knew that this wasn’t real, that it was all in her head and that it wasn’t healthy but it was one of the only things she had left that she could cling to, that she could depend upon. She flicked her eyes back up to her brothers and the pity that she thought she saw reflected in his eyes incensed her.

She sat straighter, pushed back against the tree until the bark dug into the blades of her shoulders. “Don’t… don’t look at me like that,” she spat. “I’m not some child… no longer a little girl that needs people’s pity to be lavished upon her. I am not weak.”

“I never said you were, sister. This—” he lifted his hand and gestured to the dense forest around them “—all of this does not make you weak. It’s a place you created in your mind so you could escape and you escape so you can stay strong out there where it matters.”

Feeling a little petulant Sansa crossed her arms beneath her breasts and pursed her lips. “How can your thought process be so coherent if you aren’t even real?”

He laughed at her question, louder than she had ever heard him laugh before and he raised an eyebrow as a smug smile came to play along his lips. “How should I know? After all, I’m just a figment of your imagination, am I not?”

She rolled her eyes while letting the back of her head bang against the tree in exasperation. “You are  _so_  bothersome,” she stated.

Silence settled between them and Sansa picked at a loose thread at the hem of her skirts as Jon moved to lean against the weirwood beside her, his arm pressing against her bony shoulder. Her throat had tightened at the prospect of having to let him go. In here, in her mind they were safe and they were together. Out there, she didn’t even know if he was dead or alive.  _This_ , this could be all she had left of her family and the sound of twigs breaking under the weight of  _his_  steps sounded closer.

“You have a choice, Sansa. None of this has to change if you don’t want it to; you know I will always be here if you have need of me. Or you could leave the past behind, take steps towards the future and become stronger than you already have. And then one day, maybe you won’t need to come here anymore.”

He was telling her to choose, to stay here or to eventually gain the strength to leave and he was her past, tethering her to the dark corners of her mind where this fantasy had hollowed out a home. Sansa knew what she had to do, almost felt some relief at it but it hurt, made her heart and chest ache.

“Jon I…” her words were cut off as a sob made its way up her throat and he moved to kneel before her, lent in and pressed his lips briefly to her forehead.

“Hush, little sister. I knew what your decision would be even before you did. But don’t cry—please, don’t cry.”

She scrambled to her knees, pressed her face into his chest and wrapped her arms around him, clung to him as her nails dug into his thick woollen cloak as his breaths misplaced strands of her hair.

“Have I ever told you that you’re far too beautiful to look so sad?” Jon asked. She shook her head against him. “You are. You should know that and besides, you’re not a pretty crier. Your face gets all red and blotchy and you just don’t pull it off well.”

A small, unexpected bout of laughter burst from Sansa and Jon took the opportunity to pull away from her. She sat back on her heels, watched as he shuffled over to the edge of the pool and dipped his legs in, the water rising higher than the shallow depths should have allowed.

“Jon, what are you doing?” she asked

He turned his head to look over his shoulder at her, giving her one last small smile. “Leaving,” he replied before slipping into the water and submerging himself until she could no longer see him.

Sansa crawled forward, curled her fingers over the edge and stared down at her own face that the murky surface reflected back at her. Not bothering to push her sleeve up she reached into the pool and the water only came to her elbow in the centre before she could place the palm of her hand flat on the bottom. Her chest constricted, he was gone but it had been her choice.  _My choice, my choice, my choice,_  she echoed in her head.

She jumped, the sound of sticks breaking behind her startling in the near silence of the forest. She stood, brushed dried leaves and moss from the skirts of her gown as she schooled her conflicting emotions.  _He’s gone, but it was my choice_. She stepped forward, droplets of water rolling off the tips of her fingers and marking a trail of her path along the dry leaves scattered over the forest floor. She raised that wet hand as she skirted around the weirwood, brushing it over the trunk as she passed and leaving it tacky from the red sap that oozed through the cracks in the bark.

Sansa could smell him before she saw him. Leather, ginger, sandalwood and  _him_ , and then he was thereleaning against the other side of the weirwood with his arms crossed over his chest and a crooked smirk pushing up one corner of his lips.

“Ah, there you are little wolf. I have been looking for you.”

“Lion,” she greeted in return.

He let out a huff of breath, the sole of his boot connecting hard with a root of the tree as he stepped forward and in one fluid motion had entangled his fingers with her wet ones, had twirled them both around and pushed her up against the tree. He brought the arms of their entwined hands above her head, the sap sticking them together as he pressed into her then drove one of his legs between her thighs. She was trapped between the hardness of the weirwood and the hardness of his body and it felt so good, so safe—just as protected as she’d felt with Jon. The coolness of his golden hand knocked gently beneath her chin, tilting her face up as he descended on her. His lips pressed hard against her own, his tongue sweeping into her mouth before he pulled back and nibbled teasingly at her bottom lip. Sansa moaned deep in her throat causing him to smile against her mouth as she said his name in a breathy whisper, “Jaime.”

 

* * *

 

 Jaime watched his sister from the shadows, the few shadows that were provided for him to linger in considering the hundreds of candles that burned, each one of them a prayer for the young man that he had never truly known as his son… their son. Though was father really a title that he wanted to claim in regards to that particular boy? He wasn’t sure, nor was he sure if these were a sufficient amount of prayers to save the soul of a being that had been so cruel and twisted in life. He had yet to shed a single tear for Joffrey whereas Cersei on the other hand let her tears fall freely to stream down her cheeks as she knelt before the alter of the Mother.

The smoke from the incense burned at his eyes as he moved towards her, his steps even and practiced and echoing off the walls and domed ceiling. Jaime felt an urge to comfort her, she was suffering—no parent wanted to outlive their child. Yet he was conflicted; with the desire to comfort came the feeling of guilt to settle in the pit of his stomach. He had chosen his sister in this moment and he had left his brother and Sansa to their fate for the time being. _Sansa_. He wondered how she feared, wondered if the terror had set in… wondered if she had once again gone away to the place that lingered so deep within her that it was near to impossible to lure her away from it.

_I should have gone to her._ As he stopped at Cersei’s side he now regretted the course he had taken. She didn’t look at him as she curled an arm around his leg, her fingers clutching at his pants as she pressed her face against his thigh. “My son, Jaime…” _Our son_. But he knew what was theirs would always be hers.

“I’m sorry that there was nothing to be done for him,” he murmured. _I’m sorry that he did not warrant a better end. I’m sorry the fate that was handed to him was one that he deserved._

Cersei stared up at him, her vision blurry and her cheeks glistening with the salty droplets that were now falling few and far between. “You’re wrong.” Jaime wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted her to elaborate on that. He knew his sister, knew that she would be seeking revenge for the loss of her golden haired child, her firstborn.

She turned to face Joffrey’s bier, her grip on his trousers loosening as she prepared to raise herself from her knees. Despite the grief that was still etched on her face, despite the red, puffiness of her eyes, her lips thinned into a determined line.

“You saw it,” she whispered, placing a hand on his chest. “You saw who Joff pointed at.”

“There is no proof, Cersei.” Jaime wanted to remove himself from the heat of her body, wanted to put a modicum of space between them but her fingers folded over the collar of his coat and held firm. “He told me, he warned me that this day would come. When I was safe and happy… he said that he would take it all away from me and he has… he has.” She beat on his chest then, her hands balled into fists as she slammed them down upon him. “My boy, slain—murdered.”

“Calm yourself.” Jaime caught a wrist in his hand, gently twisting her arm behind her back as he pulled her against him and trapping her free arm between their bodies. He whispered in her ear, soothing words that held next to no substance to a woman grieving the loss of her child; yet she stilled against him, planting her face into his chest as she panted out distressed breaths.  

“Jaime… please,” she murmured.

He nodded his head, not sure what she was pleading for but in that moment he wanted nothing but to relieve her anguish so he nodded his head again; with each “please” that was rasped out from between her lips he nodded and her breathing began to calm until he found them slumped back against the Mothers alter, arms wrapped around each other as he gazed at the glint of his sons gilded armour in the candlelight. Exhausted—he felt exhausted and if the way that his sister’s normally proud posture had drooped was an indication of anything, so was she.

Jaime didn’t register the brush of lips against his own at first, hadn’t realized that Cersei had raised herself to the tip of her toes so she could connect them together in a more intimate fashion. Another brush of lips and he stared into her eyes, her arm wrestled out from between them to lightly stroke his cheek while nails grazed over stubble.

“Cersei…” Her name was a mere whisper. Somehow Jaime knew that if he raised his voice any louder it would break him from the spell he found himself in and then reality would come crashing down around him. He would remember the woman Cersei had been since his return, he would remember that Tyrion and Sansa were locked away in dank cells, he would simply remember Sansa. _Sansa_. Just her name sent a jolt through him and the embrace that he held his sister in slackened. She either didn’t notice or she simply didn’t care when Jaime turned his head a fraction so that the next brush of her lips would connect with his cheek; his eyes no longer holding hers in their sight.

Cersei pushed herself more firmly against him, cupping his face in the palms of her hands as she searched for the boy that would have given her anything and everything that she desired; the boy that would have followed her to the end of the world if it meant that he could grant her happiness. She needed that boy, she needed the man that Jaime was before he had been held captive by the Starks and not the man he had become.

“Please, Jaime. I need you.” He couldn’t seem to escape her gaze. “Please… avenge our son.” His stomach flipped. “I need you to. You must. Please. They can’t be left to be set free. They did it, that twisted brother of ours and his wife—they murdered Joff.” He attempted to inch away and was meet with stone digging into his back. He couldn’t… he wouldn’t. The thought of hurting her, of hurting his brother churned his stomach until he felt ill.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe they did anything to harm Joffrey.”

Cersei stiffened against him before pushing away, his arms flung wide with the force that she had used to leave his embrace. “You’re siding with them—over me? Over your son?”

“This has nothing to do with taking sides. I just simply do not believe that either of them would do such a thing. There is no evidence.”

“Joff pointed at that little monster. He declared with his last ounce of life who the person was that killed him,” Cersei hissed.

“He pointed out the person who he _thought_ had killed him, if that was even Joff’s intention. We aren’t to know and merely pointing at a person does not make the accusation so. Think about this, Cersei. He is our brother and Sansa is a young woman that… I don’t even need to finish that. The idea of her doing such a thing is ludicrous.”

“Don’t you see what they have done? Don’t you see how you have played into their hands?” Jaime shook his head at her, sorrow filled him for the woman that he had once been deeply—madly, in love with. What had happened to her that she could no longer see reason when it was laid out so clearly before her? Was this all that she was now? A drunk, like her husband before her. Paranoid, like the Mad King himself. Was there any chance of saving her from herself, for he could see it now; he knew that Cersei was to be her own undoing and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“He was your son.”

Jaime gave her one last glance before he moved past her, coming to a halt before Joffrey’s bier. He placed his golden hand on the gilded armour the boy was encased in and he smiled, just a small twitch that lifted the corners of his mouth up. _I am no fool, sister._

“Funny how the only time you have ever referred to him as ‘your son’ is when you want me to avenge his death.” Jaime removed his golden hand and begun to move towards the shadows that he had previously watched her from. He was leaving, but he thought to make it clear to her one last time. He did not want to leave room in her mind for her to think that she could play him with the caresses of her lips and her pretty words in the days to come.

He’d made his choice. “I will not do it, Cersei. I advise you not to ask again.” And he never looked back, not to see how she had taken his words, not even to give her an apologetic glance. No, he would never look back again.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I forgot to mention that I have written an extra scene for Chapter Twelve--Check it out. ;)


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